


The Hound and his One Fucking Acquaintance

by living_is_overrated



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Smut, Some Plot, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/living_is_overrated/pseuds/living_is_overrated
Summary: “Are you going to just drag me to the woods to rape me and kill me? Get it over with already, I’m growing bored of the silent treatment,” she snaps eventually. She’s rewarded with a quiet growl in her ear.“No. Where did you put my chicken?”Frowning, she wishes she could see his face, watch his expressions. He was the strangest man she’d ever met. Most would have at least attempted to kill her by now, not just asked her where the chicken is, as if she was a child playing hide and seek with her siblings toys.“Pocket,” she begrudgingly replied. She almost squealed (okay, she did squeal a bit) when his hand just slips into the pocket of her trouser, pulling out her stolen goods and eating them right behind her. He doesn’t offer her anything, the audacity. She’d worked hard to steal those things.“You’re a pig,” she growls, stomach agreeing with a loud noise.He merely shrugs.This was going to be a long journey, to wherever the fuck he was taking her.Gods save her now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just gonna start by saying I hate the title, please suggest better ones for me as I'm clearly not imaginative enough.
> 
> Speaking of imagination, this involves none, as I'm sure there are probably loads of stories out there like this.
> 
> I'm also not expecting any reads because I seem to be one of the few that actually find the Hound a special kind of attractive, but I get if he's not really your cup of tea. But whatever, maybe this'll float someone's boat and make me not a total failure. 
> 
> I'm also going to put a WARNING now: there will be a lot of violence and non-consensual scenes, typical to Game Of Thrones, so please read on at your own risk.

On shaky legs, she walks through the village. People are surrounding her, going about on their daily business, ignorant to everyone except themselves. This works best for her, people too preoccupied to notice her existence as she weaves through the chaos of the day. 

Her stomach clenches again, a painful reminder of the lack of food in her belly. Her lips are cracked, dry tongue parting them occasionally in an attempt to bring moisture back. Where her trousers and shirt were once fitted well, they now fall slack on her body. 

She was starving. She needed food. 

The only food she had eaten in days was small rations, stolen quickly from people’s bags or baskets. She felt bad doing it, but she needed to survive. With Winter coming, she knew she couldn’t continue living like this. It would either come round to bite her on the arse, or there would simply cease to be food available to steal and they’d all starve and die. The thought makes her frown slightly and shake her head. 

Water, food, shelter. Those were her priorities, she could worry about the future when it arrived. 

She stumbles across a small inn, a few horses herded outside, waiting for their masters who were most likely drinking themselves stupid inside. Perfect. Her hand slips to the knife she keeps in her boot, keeping it hidden in the baggy sleeve of her blouse as she examines which horse holds the most things of value to her. 

Some men had been clever, taking their bags inside with them. Some not so clever. She searches the first two bags, heart hammering in her chest, the possibility of being caught at the forefront of her mind. She doesn’t find much, just a skin of water, and a stale piece of bread. She slips the bread in her pocket, drinks the water quickly before replacing the skin. Her lips thank her for it, softening again slightly at the replenishment. 

She then spots another horse, on its own, away from the others. Quietly, she closes in on it. At first she wonders if she’s made a mistake, the horse preparing to rear against her foreign hand. It’s a mighty beast, bigger than the others. She cuts the ties of the bag, slipping her hand inside-

Holy mother of the Gods, this was the jackpot. Chicken, cooked chicken. She doesn’t even put it in her pocket, putting it straight into her mouth and moaning instead. She was practically salivating. She clumsily shoved the rest of it in her pocket, turning her attention to the liquid. Ale, thank the fucking Gods. She needed some alcohol after the days she’d been having recently- 

“The fuck are you doing, girl?” 

She suddenly realises why the horse is so big. The owner is standing behind her, face full of anger.

She’s so busy panicking she doesn’t notice his face, keeping her eyes averted, hoping to appease the giant of a man looming over her. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I thought it was my horse,” she plasters an innocent smile on her lips, the kind which usually causes the men to reconsider their initial thoughts of violence towards her. She’d always been told she had the smile of an angel, which sometimes left men swooning on their feet. Okay, maybe she’d made that up. But it was still a pretty powerful fucking smile and she was confident it would work.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” if anything, he sounds angrier, and she’s taken back by how it’s backfired. 

“I’m sorry, sir. Please, I’ll just leave, you can have it back-“ she shoves the ale at him regretfully and starts to move away, ready to use nimble legs to escape quickly. A heavy hand is already on her shoulder. He’s quick for a big man. The hand is big, it could easily crush her smaller bones. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, little one. And stop calling me sir, I ain’t no sir,” he growls, bending down to her level threateningly. She sees his face properly now, the angry scars across his face. All confidence that she had the situation under control averts her, her face twisting slightly in shock at the damage to his face. She’d never seen anything like it. .

“Yeah, stare. I’m ugly and it scares you,” he smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a look full of hurt which he’s clearly experienced throughout his life. Fake confidence he uses as a defence, self depreciation so others can’t hurt him. 

She crosses her arms stubbornly and frowns, forcing herself to meet his eyes in an attempt to regain at least some of her former posture and control. 

“Don’t assume how I feel, thank you. And don’t tell me what to do,” she means to sound threatening but realises it probably just makes her come across as a stubborn child. It does, however, still surprise him. He smirks more, but this time she sees a faint amount of amusement in his eyes, causing her to raise an eyebrow. 

“How old are you, girl?” His accent is strange, she can’t quite place it. She considers lying, but she doesn’t really know what good it would do if she did. 

“23.” 

He looks truly surprised then, taking a bit of a step back. 

“But you’re so skinny, like a little sparrow. How can you be more than 18?” 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m skinny because I’m very fucking hungry,” she growls, attempting to sound menacing, and not liking being compared to a child. 

He glances across her body again, the hand that isn’t on her shoulder claws at her hips, gripping tightly, then traveling up to her breast. “Well, I suppose you have the birthing hips of a woman, and tits of a-“ he begins to mumble to himself as he does his examination of her body but she cuts him off with a sharp slap on his hand. 

“Did your mother not teach you how to talk and act with a lady?” she scolds incredulously, ignoring the tingling feeling his roaming hands left at the pit of her stomach. 

Now was not the time, she reminded herself. He was rather tall and handsome, albeit the scars, but even they made her feel slightly heated, the sudden thought of his muscled body taking what he wanted from her-

No. 

“No offence, sir. But you’re just staring at me, and I really best be on my way to steal ale from someone preferably half your size… So if you’d kindly remove your hand from my shoulder…” she trails off as the hand tightens instead, his face growing menacing, any trace of amusement disappearing again and leaving behind an air of disgust and irritation. 

“Remove my hand? But then you won’t learn your lesson, stupid girl,” he shakes his head. “No, no. You’re coming with me. You could help me in a few ways.” 

With sudden strength, she’s shocked to be hoisted off the ground, placed on the beast of a horse she’d just stolen from. She winces, aching bones shuddering at the force of her placement. His hands barely leave her hips as he drags himself up behind her. 

“What are you doing?” She tries to hide the way her heart hammers in her chest and her voice wobbles, but she can’t tell whether it’s in anticipation, fear, excitement, or all three. 

He doesn’t reply, grumpy bastard just scowls away as both her wrists are clenched in one of his hands, his other working a rope around them, tying them in front of her. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

Still no reply. The horse begins to move, guided by his hands on the reigns, arms enveloping her body from behind. She feels like a trapped animal and grows agitated. 

“Are you going to just drag me to the woods to rape me and kill me? Get it over with already, I’m growing bored of the silent treatment,” she snaps eventually. She’s rewarded with a quiet growl in her ear. 

“No. Where did you put my chicken?” 

Frowning, she wishes she could see his face, watch his expressions. He was the strangest man she’d ever met. Most would have at least attempted to kill her by now, not just asked her where the chicken is, as if she was a child playing hide and seek with her siblings toys. 

“Pocket,” she begrudgingly replied. She almost squealed (okay, she did squeal a bit) when his hand just slips into the pocket of her trouser, pulling out her stolen goods and eating them right behind her. He doesn’t offer her anything, the audacity. She’d worked hard to steal those things.

“You’re a pig,” she growls, stomach agreeing with a loud noise. 

He merely shrugs. 

This was going to be a long journey, to wherever the fuck he was taking her. 

Gods save her now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight sexual tension and fluff

She breaks after half an hour. Having never been very good at staying quiet, she starts talking. Mindless chatter. It gets her through life, talking about things, even if no one is listening. And she can tell that he definitely isn’t listening. 

So instead, she fidgets. “This is uncomfortable, don’t you have another horse? Why must I ride with you?” she complains, rolling her hips in an attempt to relieve the tension building in her spine with every step the horse takes. 

“If I had another horse, why would I let you ride it alone? You’d leave me,” he growls, and she gets the sense he might be rolling his eyes at her. 

She giggles slightly, turning around as much as she can to glance at his face so he can watch her smirking. 

“Are you lonely? Is that why you kept me? You don’t want me to leave because you want me to stay with you, for how long? Forever? I must admit, I find it very flattering, sir, but I don’t even know your name, and I met you but an hour ago and you’ve barely spoken a word to me… I don’t open my legs to silent men who won’t talk to me…” her tone is teasing. Unable to help herself, she rolls her hips again – this time with a different purpose to just relieving tension, in fact, quite the opposite. 

The round of her bottom is slotted perfectly against his groin, meaning her teasing movements have exactly the desired effect.

He makes a noise of discomfort, releasing one hand from the horses reigns to press against the small of her back, suddenly attempting to make as much distance between them as possible. “Don’t worry, girl. I don’t want your cunt. But the whorehouse certainly will, and they’ll pay good money for it, too.” He states his intentions so nonchalantly, like she was just an item, not a person, and he could do what he wanted with her.

She frowns. At first she doesn’t know whether to feel fear, because she just feels irritation instead. How dare he? She was too good for a brothel. “A whorehouse?” she scoffs, shaking her head. “That’s a mistake.” 

“Is it? Maybe I’ll just sell you as a slave then, to the man who will pay the most to fuck you for the rest of his sorry fucking life,” she feels him shrug, uncaring. “Either way, I need money, and you’ll help me get it.” 

“Why waste me like that? Why send me to a brothel, or to be some man’s slut, when I could be yours instead?” her voice drops low, admittedly she finds him arousing, but also curious. Most men in his position would have raped her by now. Contrary, he grips her thigh in warning. 

“Stop,” he growls when she goes back to rocking back against him with the movement of the horse. “I don’t need a fucking cunt, I need money.” 

Sandor would be lying if he said he wouldn’t like to fuck her though. 

She was the prettiest thing he’d seen for months, years maybe...ever? Her hair flowed down her back to her hips, as dark as the night. He could imagine gripping it as he fucked her from behind. Her eyes were wide, nose small, lips plump, lashes long. The definition of beauty. But he could tell she was also dangerous, both physically and emotionally. Clearly she was used to talking men into doing her bidding, her voice was low and inviting, words a constant stream that quickly enveloped and drowned him. He was almost convinced she was a witch. 

Moreover, although she was clearly thin and frail currently, he could see the muscles that rippled beneath her skin, storing the energy and ready to fight. If the time came, she would be able to hold her own, seemingly having fought many battles before, judging by the many scars he had also noticed across her body as they’d been travelling

“You’re a curious man,” she sighs, breaking the silence. Sandor snaps out of his trance, averting his eyes to the path ahead and away from her body. “Can I at least know my captors name? Mine is …….”

He frowns at her, genuinely confused. “You really don’t know who I am, girl?” 

“No, am I meant to?” she raises an eyebrow. “That’s rather bold to assume.” 

“Everyone fucking knows who I am,” he mumbles. “I’m the Hound.” 

She actually laughs, biting her lip to stop herself when his arms tighten around her in warning. 

“Sorry, I still have no fucking idea who that is. Is that a name your friends have given you?” 

“I don’t fucking have friends.” 

“Why do they call you that then?” 

“Because of my ugly fucking face. My brother is known as the Mountain.” 

“Ahh,” she makes a noise of acknowledgment, suddenly finding it less humorous. “I do know of him. He came to my village, raped our mothers and daughters, killed our fathers and sons, all in the name of the queen,” she spits in disgust at the name. 

She’s surprised to find that he relaxes slightly at that, expecting the opposite. She expects him to react badly at the disrespect towards his brother. 

“You don’t like him?” She asks curiously. The Hound just shifts uncomfortably against her again, not liking the way she can see straight through him. 

She smiles, knowing she’s correct. 

“What’s your real name then, Hound? So I know what to scream when your cock is in me tonight.” 

“Sandor, but that won’t be happening,” he sounds uncertain. Her movements and words through the journey have clearly had an effect on his cock, which is now straining against the confines of his slacks, but he doesn’t want to admit that, or fall into her trap. 

“Fine, so I know what to scream when I kill you then.” 

***** 

Her words had chilled him. She’d said them so simply and truthfully. Of course, he knew she had no chance against him, but it did make him wonder how closely he should watch his back tonight.

In reality, she had no intention of killing him yet. She’d actually taken a liking to him (lucky for him). She could see straight through his hard talking, tough demeanour. With perhaps a little more talking, she could convince him not to sell her. They could work together. They’d be a great team. Not much bought her pleasure in this world anymore, but getting to know people did. Specifically, getting to know this curious beast of a man. 

What could she say? She was a nosey little shit at heart. 

They’ve been travelling hours now, her hands are still tied and her stomach is making painful clenching movements but she doesn’t say anything. She leans her head forward, against the neck of the horse, closing her eyes. She’s bent at the waist, giving him a lovely view of her ass still pressed against him.

“So, Sandor,” the name slips nicely off her tongue, making her smile, “What did you do before you decided instead to steal women and sell them?” 

“I don’t steal women,” he defends himself gruffly. “I used to be the head of the Kings Guard.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Wow, what happened? Why didn’t they kill you?” 

“Why would they kill me?” He frowns, wondering how much she really knew, or whether she could just read his mind. 

“Well, usually men stay in that job until they die, don’t they? You can’t desert, otherwise they’ll kill you. You’re not old enough to have retired. You clearly didn’t die in battle. If they loved you enough to let you go and keep your life they would have given you money, you wouldn’t be out here.”

“Enough fucking questions,” he states, glaring down at her where she lays with her eyes shut, smiling to herself at the fact she’s figured him out completely already. 

“Sorry, a sore spot?” she teases but quickly stops talking when his fist presses into her thigh in warning. 

Silently, she goes back to shuffling. Every bone and muscle in her body aches, her legs had gone dead, back sore. 

“Stop fucking wiggling, girl,” he finally snaps, pulling the horse to a stop violently. 

“What are you-“ the question is cut off when he swiftly jumps off (nimble for such a large man) and grabs her waist, pulling her down too. 

She yelps in surprise, weak legs threatening to collapse when they hit the floor. For a second, he holds her against him, letting her head stop spinning. As if realising what he’s doing, he pushes away and she almost stumbles over again. 

Turning away from her, he puts his attention on grabbing bags off the horse. “We’ll camp here. Your moving was pissing me off,” he grumbles, not looking at her as he speaks. 

Smugly, she gestures to the front of his pants with her tied hands. “Pissing you off? That’s not what your cock says.” 

She doesn’t know why she feels so comfortable flirting and teasing him like this. He could kill her with one hand if she said anything too far, yet all he does is take a deep breath and swear to himself. 

She knows she should feel fear. Technically she’s been kidnapped and threatened to be sold to a brothel. Either she’s accepted that fate, or she knows she can change his mind and they could become powerful allies. 

Slumping down onto the floor, she watches him work. His muscles pull taut and relax as his body moves, laying down the only blankets he has, resting his swords down and going to gather logs to sit on. Sandor knows the girl is watching him, it makes him incredibly uncomfortable, but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

She watches him pull his hair over his face, self consciously looking everywhere except at her. 

“Are you going to untie me?” 

A dismissive grunt is his reply. 

“What about a fire?” 

No answer. 

“I’m cold and hungry. We need a fire,” she snaps. Again, the lack of reply has her confused. Then she realises, watching him cover his scars again.

Fire. 

“Oh,” she mumbles, biting her lip. She shuffles closer to him where he’s arranging his animal furs. “I’m sorry. Your face… How did it happen? Someone burnt you?” 

“I already told you, girl. No more fucking questions,” he growls defensively, head snapping up to make eye contact with her again. The look in his eyes causes her to shut her mouth tight, hesitating on her path to touch him and comfort him. 

“If we need a fire, I’ll light one,” he sighs. “For now, we don’t.” 

Nodding, she curls into herself slightly. What person would do such a horrible thing to a man? She couldn’t imagine the pain he’d experienced. He watches her shiver, mistaking her horror for being cold. 

“Drink,” he throws some ale at her. She definitely wasn’t going to say no, lifting it to her lips with shaky hands. The beverage warms her belly, shooing away some of the chill which was starting to creep in. 

They sit there in silence for a while, atmosphere thick.

“I’m cold…” she repeats again after a while, truer and quieter this time. Over the weeks she’d lost a lot of weight, and winter was coming. She barely had many clothes on her back, the night air settling hard in her bones as the dark rolled in. 

Whatever she expects him to do or say (if anything at all), she doesn’t expect him to sigh and start taking his own furs off for her. 

“No,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “Then you’ll get cold-“ 

“Shut up, girl. How have you survived out here when you won’t even accept help from a man who’s threatened to harm you? Surely you’re smarter than to refuse any help you can get? Smarter than to refuse something which could put me at a disadvantage, further helping you? Besides, you are a little sparrow, and I am a Hound. I’ll survive the cold longer than you with or without furs. You won’t last through winter,” he scolds harshly.

“I don’t want to put you at a disadvantage,” she frowns. “I quite like you, Sandor. I believe you have a good heart.” 

He actually laughs, probably one of the first times she’d heard him laugh since meeting him. “Just fuck off and take my clothes. You don’t have to start talking bullshit in an attempt to win my affection. It won’t change my mind.” 

She groans frustratedly. “Why are you so damn defensive? Do you enjoy making life harder for yourself?”

“Do you?” he fires back, holding the furs just out of reach to prove his point. 

“Why don’t we just share them?” she sighs resignedly. “Or are you too scared to touch me? I saw how you reacted on the horse, like a shy boy, scared of the reaction your body had to me.” She can’t help but use the opportunity to goad him, trying to gain the upper ground. 

He goes back to his silent treatment, deciding that she isn’t worth the hassle of talking to any longer. The furs are pulled out of her reach again and he places them back on himself. 

20 minutes later and she’s really wishing she hadn’t pushed him, wishing she’d just taken the damn furs when she had a chance. 

She’d laid down to try and get some rest while he sat opposite her, finishing his ale. The floor was hard and uncomfortable, causing her to toss and turn, her aching bones receiving no reprieve. The rope was a scratching marks into her skin and making it even more difficult for her to find a good position. 

As he laid down too, placing his bag beneath his head and sword within arms reach, he watched her carefully. Analysing her movements, he let out a huff of annoyance and turned away in an attempt to ignore her. 

Eventually, he seemed to cave in, growing tired of watching her shiver and shake. 

“Come here,” he mumbles. It’s so quiet she doesn’t even hear him at first, wondering if he spoke at all. Then, she hesitates, processing the words and wondering what they truly meant. If she carried on lying there alone she would die of cold before the sun rose again, so decided to take her chances and slowly shuffle closer to him. He didn’t stop her, even when she was flush against his chest, laying on his side. 

Admittedly, he did flinch though. The contact was obviously not something he was used to. Perhaps he was only used to violent contact, not the tender touch of a woman seeking his warmth. 

Begrudgingly, he opens the furs across his body, pulling her even closer in order to fit her under them. Luckily she was a small thing, as he was so big he took up most of the room. She almost moans in satisfaction as she starts to feel his heat radiating into her, soaking it in and curling up against him like a house cat. When her knees knock against his, top leg pushing at his, he fights it but she wins with stubbornness. Her legs slots between his and she makes a quiet noise of contentment. 

“Sandor?” 

“What?” He grumbles. 

“Thank you,” the words are quiet and she whispers them against his chest, then stretches her neck up to press the most gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth. 

He’s taken aback, gasping slightly and pulling away in surprise. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t a thank you and a kiss. 

But as he watches her eyes flutter closed and her mouth settle on a small smile as she falls asleep, he realises that he doesn’t really mind. 

Maybe she wasn’t such bad company after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos or comments are much appreciated! x


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She manages to piss off a bunch of guards, but will Sandor come to the rescue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: non-con/violence/rape threats

When he wakes the next morning, the first thing he notices is how cold he feels compared to when he went to sleep. For a few moments, he can’t figure out why.

Feeling in front of him, he then notices the space where a warm body had been. Yes, the body of a girl. The girl he’d taken. It all came back to him suddenly and he jumped up, head groggy. 

Where the fuck had she gone? 

He remembered tying her up, he hadn’t taken the ropes off, she couldn’t have gotten far. Curiously, she hadn’t even attempted to take the horse as Stranger still looked calm, and all his other belongings were still there. Apart from his sword. 

For fucks sake. 

He swears to himself as he grabs his remaining weapons, shrugging his furs off and leaving them with his horse as he goes to hunt for her. 

He stumbles merely 100 feet before hearing the telltale sounds of someone moving on the dead earth of the forest. Following the sound, he’s greeted with yet another surprise. 

There she was, in all her glory. But she wasn’t running away, as he’d expected to find. No, she was swinging his sword around like a madwoman, fighting an invisible enemy, concentration on her face. 

He couldn’t help but laugh as she struggled to even hold the sword up, body unused to carrying such a weight. A grown man would struggle with the weapon, the Hound was much larger and stronger than a grown man. 

The ropes he’d used to tie her hands were bundled on the floor where she was shuffling. 

If he wasn’t so pissed off, he’d probably be impressed with her efforts. 

“What the fuck are you doing, girl?”he booms, storming across to her and plastering on an angry face. “Stealing my things?” 

She’s clearly taken by surprise, not expecting him to be awake yet or to have crept up on her so easily. Her mouth moves to start spilling excuses but quickly shuts again when he’s looming over her. 

“I wasn’t stealing, I was borrowing,” she manages to mumble instead, biting her lip and looking up at him with innocent eyes. 

Well, as innocent as she could manage. 

“This is my sword-“ he accentuates the words by snatching the metal back from her hands, which she tries to resist, “- and you took it without permission. That’s stealing.” 

“I was going to give it back!” she frowns, crossing her arms stubbornly. “I just wanted to practise. It’s bigger than any sword I’m used to though.”

“Any sword you’re used to?” He laughs at her words, sheathing it safely in his belt again, still standing over her. “Do you practise with swords often, woman? I doubt it,” he mocks. 

She frowns more, growing more irritated and defensive. “I do, actually. I’ve had more than my fair share of fights. Knives are my preferred weapon, though. I can throw them well. None of your knives are balanced enough to throw, I’ve already tried them. Cheap and distasteful smithsmanship if you ask me. Hope you didn’t pay much for them,” she snaps. “I need to learn how to wield a sword against big brutes like you,” she adds, being mean just for the sake of it at this point. 

Cursing her under his breath, he turns to walk away. He stops dead in his tracks when she grabs his arm in protest. 

“Wait- Teach me, please…”her voice is pleading and desperate, to the point where he actually turns to glance at her, hesitating.

“So you know how to kill me in my sleep with my own sword? Not likely.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t want to hurt you! I want us to consider each other as equals!” Growing frustrated, her feet stomp on the ground like a petty child. He just snorts and turns away again. 

This time, truly angry, she shoves him as hard as she can. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” 

It all happens in a blur, but he doesn’t think before swinging around and slapping her in one movement. She instantly tumbles to the ground, head turned from the force of it, clutching her swollen cheek. Once the action is done and he can’t take it back, he suddenly feels incredibly guilty, a feeling he doesn’t encounter often. 

Looking down at her, vulnerable on the floor, he wishes he hadn’t hurt her like that, but he can’t let the feeling persist or he’d be consumed by it. Instead, he does what he does best and suppresses it, using anger to justify his actions against her. 

“Come. Breakfast,” he mumbles, going to walk back to the camp when he can’t look at her any longer. 

It takes him at least 20 yards to realise she isn’t following him. 

“Fucks sake girl, are you deaf?” He swings around and marches back to her, ready to give her an earful. That’s when he notices something is wrong.

She isn’t really paying attention to him, clearly trying to stand and follow him before collapsing back to the ground, head spinning and eyes blurring.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” He growls, gripping her chin to force her to focus on his face, ignoring the nasty bruise which is already beginning to form. 

“Dizzy-“ she mumbles, closing her eyes for a second. 

“I didn’t hit you that bloody hard,” he defends, shaking his head. He studies her for a moment then sighs, realising what was wrong. “When was the last time you ate?” 

She shrugs, frowning as she tries to remember. “A proper meal? At least a week ago.” 

“Gods, give me strength,” he groans, rolling his eyes up to the heavens in exasperation. “Come on, stupid girl. Let’s get some food in you.” His touch is surprisingly soft when he lifts her up, she still manages to flinch though. 

“What are you doing-“ she starts to protest but he snarls, shutting her up. She tries to focus on how comfortable and warm his chest is instead. 

They make it back to the camp and she seems to have regained some strength again, making a move to stand independently. He doesn’t let her though, forcing her to sit down on the bundle of furs he’s arranged into a comfortable cocoon for her. 

“You should have told me you were hungry,” he scolds, pulling some meat and bread from his bags. 

“You didn’t ask,” she snaps back, crossing her arms defensively. 

“I’m not a monster, I don’t want you to starve to death,” he shakes his head, passing her the selection of food, urging it to her mouth. 

“No, what good is my cunt for the whorehouse if I’m dead?” she replies bitterly, shoving the food into her mouth unceremoniously. 

Fascinated, he watches her, but doesn’t reply. If he admits that he was having doubts about his original plan to ship her off and take the gold, then it would get her hopes up. 

He had an internal battle and he’d only met the woman a day ago. She was pretty, clever and strong. She would be good company, even if only to fuck when he was angry or stressed (at least, that’s what he kept telling himself – no feelings were involved, of course…). But on the other hand, he really needed the gold. 

However, money was temporary and would only get him so far. While life was also temporary, a woman companion would still last longer than a couple of gold coins. 

He tries to think about something else, his mind whirling in confusing thoughts and emotions. 

“Why didn’t you run away with my things this morning? Why didn’t you just leave? You had the opportunity,” he narrows his eyes, he didn’t understand her. And things he didn’t understand were dangerous. 

She stops eating for a moment, although most of the food is almost gone by now anyway. He watches her wide eyes meet his, the shrug of her narrow shoulders and the way her hair tumbles over her breasts as she does. 

“Why would I? I have no where else to go. You have a sword and food and a horse. Weirdly enough, I trust you not to hurt me, Sandor. Why would I leave your protection?” her words are open and honest, but they seem to cause an angry reaction in the Hound. 

“My protection? I just hit you, that’s clearly me hurting you, and not protecting you. You’re naïve, girl. Stupid and naïve for trusting me,” he shakes his head incredulously, standing up and pacing as he tries to take in her words, his voice loud. 

“It isn’t safe out there-“ she begins but he cuts her off. 

“And you think it’s safer with me? I have a warrant on my head, I kill people, men, women and children. I don’t care. I raped and abused women on the orders of my king. I’m a beast, a Hound. If you value your life, you should have left this morning when you had the chance.” 

“You may think I’m just a stupid girl, but I’m not. I can see straight through you, Sandor. You’re not a bad man. You did those things because you had to, not because you wanted to. And no, that doesn’t excuse your actions, but the Gods have given you a chance to change. You’re still alive! The king hasn’t found you yet! You found me! Don’t sell me to a brothel, help me. Let me stay with you. This is your chance to change who you are,” her voice started out strong but ends quiet, soft whispers. She’s moved from the furs, pushing him down to sit again. 

She’s surprised he even let her get this close to his face, she can see all his scars. Her breath ghosts over his skin, she’s breathing hard. Scared? Scared of the inevitable rejection? Worried he’ll hit her again, or worse? She keeps talking while she knows he’s listening. 

“I know we’ve only just met, and you clearly don’t trust people easily. But I want you to try, try to trust me, just for a while. If I ruin that trust, then do what you want with me. Sell me, kill me, I don’t care.”

All it would take is for her to bend down an inch and her lips would be against his. She was beyond tempted. But he was an unpredictable man, she didn’t want to push him too far too fast. 

She takes his lack of reply as an end of conversation. She’s shoved back when he stands up abruptly, unable to meet her eyes any more. 

He storms off, leaving her standing there. She doesn’t see him again for an hour. 

***** 

Diligently, she stays by their camp, not wanting to give him another reason not to trust her by wandering off. When he does finally come back, she jumps up to greet him and talk to him but she’s ignored. 

Distantly, her face throbs, a reminder of the morning. She notices that he purposely avoids looking at the evidence of his actions. She tries to talk to him again and get his attention. 

“Where are we going today then?” 

She’s blanked. Big hands grip her waist, hoisting her up onto the horse. This time, he doesn’t bother tying her hands, knowing she’ll get out of the ties easily if she wants to. 

“You’re so rude, I’m just trying to talk to you, like normal human beings,” she mumbles bitterly, glaring. 

Still, no reply. He just stares blankly ahead as they begin to travel again. 

“Why are you such a grumpy bastard? When was the last time you got laid?” she rolls her eyes, speaking quietly but knowing he could still hear her. 

“I’m grumpy because I’m ugly. I don’t get laid because I’m ugly,” he snaps, shaking his head. 

“I don’t think you’re ugly, I’d fuck you,” she shrugs, stating the words easily and matter of factly. “Maybe you don’t get laid because you’re a miserable shit, nothing to do with your looks.” 

“Fuck you,” he mumbles, clearly riled by her words. 

“Feel free, you seem like you need it,” she smiles sweetly over her shoulder at him. 

He goes back to ignoring her, but she still notices the way he shifts slightly differently against her, clearly imagining enacting her words in his head. 

That doesn’t stop her from talking though, a constant stream of words from her mouth, mindless chatter about anything she can think of, just to pass the time. 

When she starts asking questions about his past, he cuts her off. “Shut up, girl. You’re giving me a headache.” 

Of course, she doesn’t listen again. 

What feels like hours later, she slumps against him and groans frustratedly. “How long until we stop? My back hurts.” 

“You whined about your back yesterday,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “The next village, we’ll stop for food.” 

Satisfied with his reply, she does shut up for the next hour or so as they travel across the fields to the closest village. It’s a depressing little thing, full of muddy people and horse and carts, all looking miserable as they run around their lives. 

The only place they can find with food is a little Inn. She notices the horses outside, the tell tale sign of men, possibly guards, already waiting inside. 

He doesn’t even bother to help her off the horse this time so she struggles to slide off the beast on her own, stumbling onto her feet. When she turns around, he’s already gone inside, buying himself some ale and a bowl of food, a smaller bowl of food and ale for her, dumping them on a table and plonking himself down clumsily. 

She joins him, trying to ignore the way he shovels food into his mouth like an animal. She can’t quite concentrate enough to eat her own food, distracted by the group of men on the other side of the room. They’d barely noticed the two of them walk in, too busy abusing a girl, probably of the same age as her. 

Disgusted, she watches as one of them holds her down on his lap, hands roaming across her breasts and face. The other men, possibly guards, are all encouraging him, catching their own feel of the poor girl when they get the chance. She hears them jeer and degrade her, calling her names. 

Glancing up at Sandor, she glares. He seems oblivious to it, or he doesn’t give a fuck. She doesn’t know which is worse. 

“Aren’t you going to do something?” She snaps suddenly, surprising him enough for him to stop shoving the food in his mouth for a second. 

“Something about what?” he frowns, shaking his head incredulously. 

“Something about the perverts over there, abusing the innkeepers daughter,” she crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes more. 

“What the fuck do you want me to do about that? I’m eating, they can do what they want, maybe I’ll join them after,” he shrugs, jokingly, obviously not caring, and turns back to his food. 

Angry, she pushes her food away, shaking her head at him and glancing back at the girl who is now crying. 

“Fine, guess I’ll deal with it myself then,” she mumbles. 

He frowns at her, about to protest when she jumps up suddenly, storming over to them. 

“Hey, leave her alone,” she growls, attempting to square her shoulders and make herself as intimidating as possible. Apparently, that wasn’t actually very intimidating. 

“Stay out of it, girl,” one of them rolls their eyes at her, obviously unfazed. 

“I said, leave her alone, prick,” she moves forward to grab his arm which is still roaming her body but he reacts quicker than she expects. He jumps up, letting the girl fall to the ground with the impact. Suddenly, he’s towering over her, no longer jovial, obviously pissed off. 

The girls scampers off and he doesn’t even stop her, running off to hide in the kitchen away from prying hands. The man’s attention is now fully on her instead. 

“You scared her away. I guess you’ll have to replace her now, it was just getting interesting,” he states, voice low. He’s advancing on her, so close she can smell the ale on his breath. “You’re skinny, but you still have a cunt between your legs so I guess you’ll have to do,” he whispers, pressing her back against the bench, one hand sliding down between her thighs, intrusive and uninvited. 

Her vision blurs slightly in panic as she realises how outnumbered she is. She could swear there weren’t this many of them when they were sitting down… But now they were all standing, circling her, smirks on their faces. 

Fuck, why hadn’t she thought this through before deciding to piss them all off? 

“Why’re you wearing trousers anyway, girl? Pretty thing like you should be wearing a dress, strapped down to my bed, waiting for me. Much easier to fuck you, if you’re wearing a dress,” his words disgust her almost as much as his hands which are now fumbling to untie the string holding her slacks up. The hands are impatient, one is quick to dive in, pushing past the material to touch her core. 

She takes his distracted state as her opportunity. Reaching down to her hip, just out of sight, she grabs onto a knife she’s been hiding the entire time. She went everywhere with this knife, her father had given it to her before he’d died, so she didn’t use it unless she really had to. Plus, if she revealed it’s existence, Sandor would probably take it off her. But now, she decided, was probably the appropriate moment to use it and to drag it across the man’s throat. 

Although she’d done it before, she still doesn’t quite expect the amount of blood to spurt out of his veins, drenching her in the dark liquid. It only takes him seconds to die, and in those seconds, everyone falls silent in shock. The men are no longer laughing and smirking, looks of horror on their faces as their gang leader is killed without a second thought, left twitching at her feet. 

Fuck. Maybe that had been a bad idea. 

She spins around in an attempt to run away. Where had Sandor gone? She glances at his table where he’d been eating but he’s no longer there. She was well and truly fucked. He probably decided she was more trouble than she was worth and made a run for it while he still could. 

“You little bitch, what the fuck did you do that for?” one of them growls, advancing on her, sword drawn. All shock and fear has left his face and now he’s just angry. Angry and heading straight for her. He grabs her by the neck, fingers squeezing around her windpipe and cutting all airflow off. While she struggles against him, a different man grabs her arm, bending it unnaturally until she lets go of the knife. 

She’d truly messed this one up. How did she always end up in situations like this? The Gods must have it out to get her, she decided. 

She starts struggling to breathe in earnest now, lungs burning, but the hand only tightens. 

Until it suddenly pulls away all together. In fact, all the men are no longer grabbing at her, her knife has been discarded on the floor so she quickly picks it up, looking up and ready to fight. 

But there was no one left to fight. All the men were dead or had run away, bodies on the floor, with a bloody and unhappy looking Hound standing over her. His chest heaves from either exertion or anger, she can’t really tell. 

Her clothes are ruined, more ruined than his. 

“Thanks,” she smiles uneasily, trying to puff her chest out with confidence, as though to say “Yeah, I totally knew what I was doing when I decided to piss off a group of armed and drunk men”. She wipes the blood off her knife, sticking it back into the hiding place on her belt. Her nonchalance about the situation seems to tip the Hound over the edge. 

“You stupid fucking bitch, what the fuck did you do that for? Did you think you could fucking take them on? On your own? Did you think they wouldn’t rape or kill you? Did you think at all? Stupid, stupid,” he growls, words full of fire as he advances on her instead, exactly like the man had done. Maybe she was wrong, maybe he didn’t save her because he wanted her safe, maybe he just saved her so he could kill her himself. 

She flinches and shuts her eyes when he moves his hand quickly to her throat, accepting her fate and just hoping he’d be easy on her and snap her neck quickly - he was strong enough to do it with one hand and without much effort.

What she doesn’t expect is the tenderness with which he touches the dark bruises which are already beginning to form in the shape of fingers where they’d clawed at her windpipe. She doesn’t expect the large fingers to stroke the damage gently, the quiet sigh of despair that escapes his lips as he studies the wounds. She doesn’t expect the words, “Are you okay?” 

Shocked, all she can bring herself to do is shrug slightly and nod. His eyes briefly scan over the bruise he left on her face earlier, and she can swear she sees a flash of regret on his face.

But then the calloused fingertips pull away as quickly as they’d reached out, as though her skin burned him. She finds herself missing the touch, the first positive and kind touch she’d received in quite a while. It makes her heart yearn for more. 

Instead, all she receives is his same cold front as before, turning away from her and going to seek out the innkeeper without another word. 

When she’s stopped shaking from the adrenaline and feels steady enough to walk again, she follows. She finds him standing with the small man, talking. He turns around when she walks in, the young girl appears from the shadows and rushes over to hers thanking her repeatedly. 

“It’s fine, it was nothing. Sorry for making a mess,” she replies, smiling weakly. 

“She said you can have one of her dresses, your clothes are ruined,” Sandor pipes up, pointing towards a dress which has been bundled up and left on the table for her. 

“I don’t wear dresses,” she tries not to stick her nose up at the fabric as it was generous for the girl to offer it to her anyway. 

“I don’t care, I can’t walk around with you drenched in fucking blood,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes at her, indicating “end of conversation”. “I’m going to clean the mess you made out in the dining room,” he grumbles, disappearing again and leaving her just with the daughter, who also soon leaves, giving her privacy to get changed. 

She throws her clothes in the fire, she’d never get the stain out. Struggling with the many fabrics of the dress, she grunts and swears. She doesn’t understand how to put it on properly. It’s a dark red colour, way too big, how does she tighten it? There are so many strings! 

Fucking girls clothes, she just wants a simple life and simple was not in the form of girls clothes. 

Stumbling out of the room, she almost trips over the hem and straight into the Hound. She’s holding the top of the dress against her chest to avoid accidentally exposing herself. It still manages to slip down her shoulders. 

The Hound looks taken back, mouth opening slightly then closing as he swallows. It’s almost as though he’s…blushing? Yes, he’s totally blushing. She smirks slightly, admittedly blushing slightly herself. “Can you help me? Where’s the girl gone? I can’t tie this stupid fucking thing up…” 

Sandor pauses, watching her. 

“You look like a whore,” he states matter of factly. 

She raising an eyebrow at him incredulously. “Fuck you,” she shakes her head, “is it the colour? Or the fact my tits are basically on show? Just fucking help me tie it up,” she growls. 

It still takes him a moment before he makes a move to help her, turning her around and grabbing the strings that lace up the back. At first, he only pulls them gently, not wanting to hurt her. 

“Tighter, man. I won’t fucking break,” she mumbles over her shoulder. 

Narrowing his eyes, he shrugs, making a snide comment under his breath about what other women say when he touches them. This time, he tugs the strings hard, making her whole body jerk back towards him and the air escape her lungs. He ties them up, and the dress finally stays up without her holding it. His fingers linger though, brushing against her bare shoulders and causing her to shiver. 

“Thanks, that’s definitely tighter,” she manages to choke out. Other than being too big, the dress actually isn’t too bad. She could still move in it freely, so if she had to defend herself she could. 

She realises that Sandor is still staring at her. “What the fuck are you looking at?” She narrows her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. He seems to snap out of it then. 

“Why have you just kept that knife a secret? Why didn’t you kill me, take my things, and leave?” he asks abruptly, clearly confused. 

“If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have needed to use the knife,” she shrugs, smirking. “You have some serious insecurity issues, my friend. We’ve already been through this, I don’t want to hurt you. Why did you save me? You could have just left those men to rape and kill me, but you didn’t. You’re a good person.” 

The words don’t seem to have a very positive effect on him, instead he groans, throwing his arms up in the air in disbelief. 

“You’re stupid, such a stupid little girl. I’m leaving you here, I’ve decided.” He storms out, going straight for his horse. 

The words hurt, she quickly apologises to the innkeeper and the daughter, thanking her for the clothes, then running to catch up with him. 

“You can’t just leave me here-“ 

He spins around and she almost runs straight into him at the unexpected movement. 

“Can’t I? Why fucking not? Give me one good reason, girl. You just decided to fight half a dozen men, risking both our lives. Why should I keep you with me if you’re just going to get me killed?” 

She bites her lip, not having thought this far in advanced for her argument of why he shouldn’t leave her. 

“Please. You want me, I can make it worth your while.” 

“How? You’re just a stupid girl, I don’t have time for-“ 

She decides that that’s probably an appropriate moment to harshly pull him down by the front of his shirt and press her lips against his.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tries to stay annoyed at her, honestly he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: sex/more death

When she pulls away, he just stares at her for a moment. Then, he turns around and carries on preparing his horse silently, as though the intimate little moment hadn’t happened at all. In fact, as though she didn’t exist at all. 

“Hound?” 

He ignores her. 

“Sandor?” 

No reply. 

He just pulls himself onto the horse and begins to trot away. Not quickly, a slow pace. Confused, she decides to follow at his side. He acknowledges her following him, but neither tells her to fuck off, nor offers to let her on. 

She walks like this for a while before deciding to break the silence. 

“Aren’t you going to let me back on the horse? Please, Sandor, this is childish.” She moans, holding the skirt up angrily as she struggles to walk through the mud which is now collecting on her hem. 

“Not until you learn your lesson.” 

“My lesson?” She huffs. “And what lesson would that be?” 

“Not to act stupidly and piss off men.” 

“Men in general? Men who want to kill me? Or you? You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

“All 3,” he grumbles, still not looking at her. 

“Well, what if said men piss me off? Am I allowed to act stupidly then?” 

He glares ahead, not replying. 

He makes her walk for at least 5 miles, she guesses. Of course, she complains the entire time. 

“I’m tired, can we stop now?” she whines, tying her hair up messily and almost falling over a tree branch in the process. 

He drags it out for another half an hour before stopping. 

“Fucks sake, woman. I can’t take your whinging any longer,” he growls. 

“You’ve ruined my dress, and my feet hurt,” she complains. 

“I didn’t ruin your dress, the mud did. But I thought you hated it anyway,” he mumbles, unimpressed, giving her a once over. “C’mon, on the horse.” He watches her struggle to climb on with the dress getting tangled, laughing at her. Eventually he helps her, hoisting her effortlessly onto the horse and climbing up behind her, back to their regular position. 

“Not much further, I made you walk most of the way. It’ll get dark soon, we’ll stop near the river, in the forest where there’s shelter.” 

He sounds…relaxed almost. At least, the most relaxed she’d heard him since meeting him. His hands fall lax on her hips, reigns gripped lightly. The horse, she’d learnt its name to be Stranger, didn’t really need guiding anyway. It was a stubborn beast which would go whatever way it wanted to, only choosing to listen and be guided when it wanted to be. 

Truth be told, it kind of reminded her of herself.

No longer having to walk, she goes back to her usual antics, pressing against him and making a satisfied noise. He ignores her at first, until the movement begins to have an effect on him and he grows irritated. 

“The fuck are you doing, girl?” his voice is quiet, hands tightening slightly as he tenses at her grinding movement. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lies, leaning forward slightly and arching her back in a way which implies she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

One of his hands actually wanders (progress, she thinks), moving to the bottom of her back, to the lacing on her dress… 

“No,” he mumbles, pulling his hands back and shaking his head, focusing on the road. 

“I just wanted to say thank you, you know, for saving me earlier. I don’t often need saving, I’m a pretty tough girl, but don’t let it get to your head too much,” she says softly, grinning. 

“I don’t want your thank you,” he grumbles bitterly. 

Her smile falters slightly, “Are you sure?” She raises an eyebrow, slowly taking hold of his hand and moving it to the front of her dress, guiding him to the places she’d guess he’d most like to touch. He goes along with it for a second, but stops when he realises what he’s doing, becoming aggressive.

“I told you, girl. You don’t need to thank me. Not like that.”

“Do you not find me attractive?” Now it was her turn to be insecure. She didn’t want to seem pushy or like a slut, but she really did find him attractive, and she’d felt the sexual tension building over the days since meeting him. 

“Of course I do,” he grits out, “I just don’t want to take advantage of you.” 

“Take advantage of me? You were going to sell me to a brothel, that sounds like taking advantage, why do you suddenly care now?” she states, defensive. 

What he wants to say is: “because maybe I’m actually starting to like you”. So he keeps his mouth firmly shut instead. 

She doesn’t try again, feeling rejected and not wanting to push him into something he clearly doesn’t want. Maybe she’d read it all wrong, maybe he didn’t like her, and did only save her so he could get his gold later along the line.

When they do eventually stop, they’re in the middle of the woods, in a little area where the ground seems to be relatively clear of branches and logs. She can hear flowing water a couple of hundred yards away. 

He doesn’t help her off the horse, trying to stay as far away from touching her as possible, and seemingly still pissed off. When she tries to talk to him, he storms off towards the sound of the water, leaving her with all the belongings they had with them. 

She decides that tonight she doesn’t want to freeze her fucking tits off, so she lights a fire while he’s gone, knowing fully well that he’ll complain when he gets back. It takes her a while but she finally manages to produce a spark that quickly develops into a roaring fire. She warms her fingers near it, already beginning to grow cold. She sees if he has any food that needs cooking, and any water to boil. He doesn’t have any water, and he’s been a while now, so she decides to go and find him. 

She makes sure Stranger is tied safely to a tree, guarding their camp, before walking off. She needed some water to heat and clean her dress with anyway. 

She only walks for a few minutes before she finds him, facing away from her and pissing in the river. 

Charming. 

She’s about to call out to him when she hears a sound. Footsteps, to her right. She stays behind a tree, cautious, and looks to see if she can figure out who it is and whether they’re dangerous.

Fuck. 

Fucking fuck. Very dangerous. 

It was one of the guys from the inn who had ran away and obviously followed them to here. Revenge? Fuck. 

He hadn’t noticed her yet, but he had his attention solidly on the Hound, advancing on him slowly but at an alarmingly steady pace. And he seems not to have noticed him yet, tucking himself back away in his trousers and just watching across the lake. His sword and weapons were back at the camp, where he’d left them with her. 

She needed to stop him, it was down to her. When she’d transferred clothes she’d kept the knife on her thigh, thank fuck. She pulls the skirt of the dress up and tugs the knife out, arming herself. She had the element of surprise, she was at the advantage. She kept telling herself that as she advanced on him from behind. 

He’s merely yards away from him now, about to pounce, but she’s quicker. 

They struggle, he cries out in surprise, alarming the Hound who spins around too, shocked. She’s jumped directly on his back, making him tumble. While he’s gasping for breath she takes the opportunity to stab the knife into his neck. 

He doesn’t die instantly, clawing at her and managing to slash her arm, but she’s unrelenting. When he doesn’t die, she begins to stab him repeatedly, mounting his chest. She doesn’t stop until he’s no longer even twitching, blood pooling beneath them, her heavy breaths filling the silence.

When she eventually thinks it’s safe, she glances up at Sandor who is still standing, shocked. Her heart is pounding in her chest, adrenaline coursing her veins. 

“Are you okay?” She asks quietly. 

“Yes yes,” he stumbles out of his state of awe, launching forward to lift her up off the body. “Are you? Fuck, he fucking cut you-“ he growls, a protective sense of authority taking over him, studying the gash on her arm.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t touch it, it’s only shallow.” shaking her head, she pulls the arm out of his grip gently, studying the wound herself. It would be fine. 

She notices he’s still staring at her as she does this, breath still not quite returning to normal. In fact, the longer he stares at her, the more it speeds up again, this time in anticipation. 

The body on the floor is almost forgotten, along with everything else surrounding her. Her vision blurs and all focus is on the man in front of her as time seems to slow down. 

It seems like forever before he suddenly moves forward, crashing his lips against hers. The kiss is far from delicate or loving, she barely gets a chance to even process what’s happening when he’s pulling away again. They’re both panting this time, staring at each other’s faces. 

One of his hands move to the back of her neck, gripping it hard, keeping her from pulling away (not that she’d want to). His one hand could fit around the whole of her neck if he wanted. The thought of the power he has over her sends a tingle through her body, not that she’d like to admit it. She wanted to be seen as a strong powerful woman, but he made her want to drop to her knees and submit entirely to him, especially when he gripped her neck and waist like that. 

Her rather sore neck. 

Clearly the pain shows on her face and he pulls away instantly. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry- Fuck, did I hurt you?” 

“Hey, hurt me? You’ve gotta try harder than that, big guy. You barely fucking touched me. Kiss me like a real man,” she lies and goads, dragging him back against her by his shirt. 

He hesitates, for a split second. Then all control seems to go out the window and he’s kissing her again, hand traveling back to her neck and holding her against him. The hand on her waist will be sure to leave bruises. He has to bend down to reach her as he’s so much taller than her. 

He groans against her mouth, frustrated. She’s being hoisted up suddenly by a hand under her arse, legs automatically wrapping around his middle. His lips don’t leave hers at all, even when she gasps as her back hits the tree behind her. Reluctantly, the hand on her arse moves to attempt to tug the rest of her skirt up that’s tangled on her legs, pressing her harder against the tree to stop her from falling while exposing her core to press bare against his clothes. 

She lets out an embarrassingly loud moan at the friction, tension building in the bottom of her belly, a heat that coiled and pulsed between her legs. 

“Fuck, you’re still covered in his blood,” he growls out, clearly aroused as he studies her clothes, fingertips brushing down her bruised neck and skimming over her breasts. 

“Don’t rip the dress,” she warns, watching a primal look cross his face. “I can wash it, otherwise I won’t have any clothes-“ 

He rolls his hips hard against her at the thought, “Maybe I’d like that. You don’t fucking need clothes, girl,” he growls in her ear. “We’ll stay here in the forest, I’ll keep you on my cock all day and night until you can’t fucking walk, not that you’d need to walk anywhere.” As he’s talking, a constant rumble against her neck, his hips are rolling repeatedly, a steady rhythm that seems to be happening against his conscious will – an animalistic instinct. 

“Well then why isn’t your cock in me yet?” she moans, voice shaking slightly at his words. She tilts her head back, letting it fall against the tree and expose her throat more to his lips, which he continues to ravish. The scars on his face create an interesting sensation against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. He’s surprisingly soft for such a tough man. 

As if realising how long he’s taking with teasing her, he stops his hips reluctantly, replacing the friction of his still clothed groin with his fingers. She squeals slightly when she feels herself slip down the tree a few inches.

“Hold onto me tighter, girl. Or you’ll fall on your arse,” he scolds. He waits until she wraps her arms tighter around his neck, holding herself up and heeding his warning, before unceremoniously pushing his fingers into her cunt. 

She moans truly then, wiggling her own hips to take the fingers deeper. They’re large, filling her up, which makes her excited about how big his cock may be. 

He pulls the fingers back out after a moment, glancing at them with a smirk then bringing them up to his mouth to suck clean whilst maintaining eye contact with her. She can’t stop herself from giggling slightly at the fact that they’ve probably had more eye contact in the last 15 minutes than the last few days put together. 

He takes the giggling the wrong way though, becoming paranoid and aggravated. It scares her how quickly he can go from excited and enthralled, to angry and self conscious. 

“Are you fucking laughing at me? At my face?” He growls, no longer humorous. One of his hands is already in her hair and it tightens in warning, making her scalp ache. 

“No, no- I was just thinking how pretty your eyes are,” she grins. If anything, his grip tightens further. 

“Don’t mock me.” 

“I’m not mocking you, Sandor. What’s it gonna take for you to believe me? Going to hit me again? I’ll let you hit me as long as you fuck me and start trusting me by the end of it,” she states, voice low and steady. She decides to accentuate her words with a thrust of her hips, pressing her wet heat against his still clothed cock. “Please, Sandor,” she moans softly in his ear, the unburnt side, kissing his earlobe and along his jaw, tightening her arms around his neck as his hand slowly releases in her hair. “Please, you tasted how wet I am, I want your cock,” she begs, exaggerating her point by placing her own finger in her folds and bringing it back up, glistening, and slowly pressing it to her own lips. He takes a moment then caves, resuming his aroused state again as he watches her clean her own finger with her mouth while watching him, sucking hollowly on the digit. 

“Dirty cunt,” he mumbles, but she can tell the words aren’t meant to be a negative because he’s fumbling with his trousers desperately, eventually managing to free his hard member.

It’s bigger than she expected. A lot bigger. Perhaps in proportion to the rest of him, but she still wasn’t quite prepared. Especially not when he decides to press into her without warning, in one long hard stroke of his hips. 

She cries out, back arching and hands clawing at his shoulders. Her vision blacks out in both pleasure and pain, keening at the sudden intrusion. 

“Fuck, wait-“ 

But the bastard doesn’t, he has eyes for one thing only now. Perhaps he wants to punish her slightly, perhaps the adrenaline at his near death experience is just coursing too thickly through his veins. 

He begins an unrelentingly harsh rhythm. The tree shakes behind her and she’s sure she’ll be sore everywhere afterwards. The pain doesn’t really stop but she likes it, the overwhelming thickness that systematically disappears and reappears between her folds, pushing the air from her lungs as she tries to gasp in breaths. 

It’s rough and dirty and perfect. 

“Sandor, yes-“ she manages to wheeze out breathily. It’s her turn to tug his hair, urging him on. “So big,” she whimpers. 

“See, I said you’d make a good whore. You sound like one,” he mumbles, panting with the effort of holding her up and fucking her senseless. 

“You make me feel like one,” she moans in reply, biting her lip in an attempt to retain at least some of her dignity. 

“Fuck, watching you kill that bastard in the inn… I thought that was attractive enough. But watching you kill this fucker… He tried to kill me, you saved me… You killed him without hesitating, I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on before in my fucking life,” he growls, unexpectedly vulnerable. “You’re a tough bitch, let’s see how tough you really are though,” he mumbles. 

She’s about to ask him what he means when his hips move even harder, impossibly deeper. One hand grips her throat from the front lightly, careful not to cause further injury, while the other moves down to press the special little bundle of nerves above where his cock is still ruining her. 

This time she almost screams in surprise and elation, a full shiver travelling through her body, causing her legs to become weak and lose grip slightly around him as she tries to maintain what’s left of her control. His hand on her neck only tightens to keep her up. The lack of oxygen also sends her mind reeling, euphoria filling her brain.

He’s so big in every way, body smothering her with pleasure and stimulation until she feels like she’s going to explode. 

And then she does. 

She comes on him, crying out his name as her muscles spasm and grip onto him. She feels like she blacks out and doesn’t know how long before she comes back down again, heart beating through her chest, entire body tingling and weak. Her cunt still pulses around him, gripping and pulling him in further, wanting to hold onto him. 

It doesn’t take him long to follow suit, spilling himself inside her, rhythm breaking and shuddering with the smallest grunt. He rests his forehead against her shoulder as they stay like that for a while, holding each other, breathing fast. 

“Where did you learn to do that? Make me feel like that?” she asks quietly after a while, when she’s finally regained her breath. 

“What, this?” he rubs her clit again a few times, causing her to squirm and whimper. 

“Yes, that-“ she moans. 

He just smiles slightly and pulls his hand away again. “I’ve been to a lot of whorehouses, girl. You learn a few things while you’re trying to pay lower prices.” 

She tries to ignore the feeling of jealousy that bubbles over her skin, an unpleasant feeling, ruining her current high. She wishes she hadn’t asked. 

“Can you walk?” He asks surprisingly gently. 

She blushes red across her cheeks, “I think so, you weren’t that good.” 

She’s soon biting her words though when he places her down. Her legs feel like jelly, knees instantly going weak as he has to catch her and hold her up. 

Smugly, he picks her up again, bridal style. “What were you saying?” 

“Shut up,” she rolls her eyes, hiding a grin in the crook of his neck. 

“Let’s get you back. Keep an eye out in case he still has friends out there though,” Sandor warns, glancing at the body. 

He takes her back, and when they get back he removes her bloodied dress. He covers her quickly with a big fur jacket, making sure she’s comfortable on a makeshift bed. 

“I’ll be back in a moment, okay? I won’t be too long. Stranger will protect you.” 

“I don’t need protecting,” she mumbles but hears the wobble in her own voice as anxiety bubbles in her chest. She doesn’t want him to leave, what if he doesn’t come back? What if he’s decided that he doesn’t want her anymore now that he’s fucked her? 

“I promise. I’ll be back,” he kisses her, as though reading the insecurities on her face. 

He does leave, and she wonders what he’s doing, but it makes sense when he comes back. 

He’s washed her dress, managing to get the worse of the stains and mud out. He also has a small cloth which he lets her wash with. It was uncharacteristically kind and thoughtful. She uses it to wipe some of the come that’s seeped down her thighs. 

“You put your seed in me,” she mumbles lightly without thinking. 

“That’s generally what happens when I fuck women, yes.” 

“You probably should have pulled out.” 

“I didn’t have time,” he mumbles under his breath. She notices the slight blush on his cheeks but decides not to tease him about it. 

Instead, she just watches as he puts her dress in front of the fire, extremely careful not to get too close to it though, clear discomfort on his face. 

Quietly, he moves to her, laying facing away from the fire, and focusing on her. 

“What if you put a baby in me?” She says lightheartedly, clearly not that concerned, but throwing the possibility out there anyway. “I hardly know you,” she raises an eyebrow at him. 

He doesn’t say anything, but the thought is swirling in his mind. A normal life, in a cottage in the woods. He can imagine her pottering around, belly swollen with his child. She’s right, they hardly know each other, but he can just sense that she’d make a good mother, the perfect mother for his child- 

No. It was stupid. He shouldn’t waste his time thinking of stupid things that’ll never happen. In reality, he doesn’t believe he deserves such a life, and if the Gods existed at all, they wouldn’t give it to him. 

Clearly he isn’t up for talking as he stays silent, and she doesn’t push him. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep, warm and comfortable and safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you hadn't noticed, I'm very inexperienced in hetero smut writing, I apologise lmao


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more death lol sorry heed the tags pls

She spends the next mornings studying his face and body, waking up wrapped in his arms. Something seems to have changed since that day in the woods. She instantly notices that he’s more relaxed with her, there’s less tension. They can sit in comfortable silence and she won’t feel pressure to talk or impress him. He touches her more, small touches that feel so much bigger coming from him. A kiss to wake her up in the morning makes her entire day better. 

One day, he catches her watching him, studying him, and glares slightly bitterly. “What?” he grumbles. “Have I got something on my face?” 

“No,” she smiles, seeing the way his eyes avoid hers as he becomes self conscious. “Come here,” she beckons him with her finger. He slowly stops preparing the food for their lunch, placing it down and coming over to her. 

She kisses him tenderly, hands cupping his neck to keep him from pulling away. 

“I’ll never get tired of your lips,” he whispers absentmindedly against her, as though he doesn’t even realise the words are forming in his mouth until they’re already out in the universe. It makes her smile, a rare glimpse into his thoughts.

Carefully, her finger tips brush against the scars on his face. He flinches at first, trying to pull away but she doesn’t let him. She can feel his heart rate quicken beneath her touch.

“How did you get these?” her voice is sincere. 

He hesitates, clearly contemplating whether or not to tell her. 

Eventually, he mumbles, “My brother.” 

She tries not to show her surprise and horror. 

“He pressed my face to the fire and held it there when we were boys,” he shrugs slightly, but she can see that it still effects him every moment of every day. 

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry, how could he do such a thing?” she breathes, shaking her head. Her fingers are still against his face, a light constant of reassurance. Sadness fills her, she doesn’t know what to say. 

He looks solemn for a moment, before suddenly seeming to realise where he is and how close she is to him, and suddenly his insecurities seem to flare up. He’s jerking away from her, leaving her breathless and whirling as he quickly goes back to what he was doing before. It’s as though he never exposed a vulnerable part of him, and he’s back to his closed off self. 

“You’re getting too close to me,” he mumbles, starting to sharpen his sword.

“What do you mean?” She sighs, sitting up and putting her head in her hands. 

“You should keep your distance, girl. Don’t start asking questions about me. Don’t start feeling sympathy for me. Remember our agreement? I’m taking you to the next whorehouse I find.” 

She’s shocked, the words are not what she expected, especially after she’d thought they just started to get on the same page. 

“What the fuck? Where are we really going?” 

“I just told you,” he snaps. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

He doesn’t speak to her for the rest of the day. 

They continue to travel. As the days pass, they become colder and colder. When it starts to snow, she’s surprised. 

“How far north are we? Where are we going?” she shivers, pulling her clothes tighter around her body as the snow begins to settle on the ground. 

“You know where we’re going. We’re not that far north. Winter is nearly here,” he grumbles. 

“Can we stop at the next town? I’m growing tired of riding this bloody horse and sleeping on the floor.”

“If they have a brothel, yes.” 

“Why are you being like this? I find it hard to believe you’ll discard me like that. I think you’re beginning to fall in love with me,” she states cockily, glancing over her shoulder at him. 

He looks down at her, unimpressed and uncomfortable at the accusation. 

“You kiss me like you love me,” she whispers, accentuating the words by leaning up to prove her point. He kisses her, unable to fight back, and she pulls away with a smug smile.

“I’ve kissed a lot of men, only ever been kissed like that by one man.” 

“Has anyone ever told you how much of a smug bitch you are?” he growls, shaking his head at her. 

She just grins, turning back again. 

****** 

It must be weeks since they’d had the incident in the inn. 

She’d officially become sick of travelling and sleeping in fields and the snow and having to wear a dress. She was cold all the time and felt like she was becoming ill. 

“It’s your cooking,” she mumbled grumpily when he questions it. 

“My cooking is fine. You have a weak stomach.” 

She glares at him, groaning when another wave of nausea hits her. 

“If it was my food, I would be sick too,” he sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear with a surprising gentleness, juxtaposing the harshness of his words. At least, attempted harshness. 

“Can we stop the horse? I’m going to be sick again-“ she mumbles. He barely stops the horse and gets her off in time before she’s bringing her lunch back up again. 

He stands behind her, unsure of what to do. Snapping out of his frozen position, he reaches over to pull her hair out of the way, using a piece of cloth to tie it back loosely. 

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly when she’s recovered, about to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand but he stops her, finding some loose material to do it for her instead and throw it away afterwards. 

“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he seems worried though, biting his lip as he studies her face. “What do you think is wrong?” he asks, concerned. “You can’t afford to be ill, it’s too dangerous out here, we don’t have any medicine.” 

“Well, it’s not by choice,” she groans. “I’m so tired, can we stop for a while?” she sighs, and as if on queue her legs give out slightly. He puts an arm around her and slowly lowers her to the floor. 

“Okay, we’ll stay here for tonight,” he caves. “But we have to carry on tomorrow, it’s dangerous here. I don’t fucking trust these parts,” he glances around as though to demonstrate his paranoia. 

He’s barely even stopped talking before she’s fallen asleep, curled up in a little ball on the ground. She shivers all night, Sandor knows because he watches her, staying awake and vigilant for the many cold hours. He helps her as much as he can, trying his best to make sure she’s warm but it doesn’t make much of a difference. 

In the morning it’s worse, for the first hour or so after waking up she can’t move without vomiting. The longer it goes on, the more agitated Sandor becomes. Eventually she gathers the energy to get back on the horse and travel further.

He spends the whole time tense and clutching her harder than usual. 

“Who put the stick up your ass?” she mumbles.

“What?” He frowns, confused. 

“Why are you so tense?” she rephrases, sighing. 

“I know people around here, they might recognise me.” 

Shifting uncomfortably, she tries to become more vigilant herself, but she can barely concentrate. 

“I wish the snow would stop,” she mumbles eventually, mostly to herself. 

“Well, it won’t be stopping any time soon, so you better get used to it.” 

She whines at his reply, exaggerating her annoyance with a shiver, uncontrollable and violent. 

It doesn’t take long before he can’t watch her anymore, taking his own firs off and wrapping them around her, balancing so they didn’t fall off Stranger as he does. 

“Thank you,” she stutters, pulling it tightly around herself. 

“You need more meat on you, girl. Fatten you up.” His words are chiding but his arms envelope her softly, willing away the chills in her bones. She practically melts into the touch, body slotting back against his so much so that his breath warms the back of her neck and she swears she can feel his heart beating in his chest against her back. 

It’s a good thing he’s holding her because she manages to drift off, after having such a restless night before. He’s almost envious, wishing he had someone to trust as easily as she trusted him while in a vulnerable sleeping state. 

The need to protect her fills his chest, overwhelming. Its confusing, having never felt this way about anyone before. He’d never had a proper woman to keep safe and love, the only encounters he’s experienced occurring in whorehouses. He didn’t have family, not that he cared about. His brother was cunt, he’d kill him himself given the correct opportunity. The feeling was so foreign and made him uncomfortable, but despite this his hands still tightened around her. 

It begins to get dark when they’re still moving, the snow has settled on the ground across the land. Appreciating the beauty of it, she also wonders whether the cold will kill her before anything else gets a chance. 

This thought seems to jinx her. 

She hears the crunch of the snow beneath the horses feet before she sees them. They come from behind, pulling sharply in front and causing Stranger to swerve, halting angrily. She only starts to feel real fear when Sandor’s heart speeds up. The men are just staring, mumbling quietly between them as they exchange a look. Clearly some recognition is occurring, and she’s pretty sure it isn’t positive. 

“Sandor?” she whispers quietly, voice cracking as her hand tightens on his arm. 

“Hound?” one of the men seem to echo, breaking into a strange smirk, a smirk that doesn’t seem happy or joyful at all. In fact, he seems pissed off. Very pissed off. 

“What the fuck do you want?” 

“That’s not the right way to greet old friends, is it?” one mumbles sarcastically. 

There’s 4 men in total. She counts them as she feels Sandor shift uncomfortably, subconsciously gripping her tighter against him. 

“Fancy seeing you around these parts,” one raises an eyebrow. 

“You’d have to have a lot of fucking balls to travel through here.” 

“Let’s cut the shit-“ Sandor growls.

“Fine. You owe me money.” 

“And me.” A second one chips in. 

They all slowly get off their horses, watching the two of them so they didn’t do a runner. She keeps an eye on the weapons in their hands, distracted by the sudden wave of nausea that hits her again. 

Fuck, not now. She’s so busy trying to keep the acid from rising up her throat that she doesn’t see the one moving swiftly towards her. Not until there’s a hand in her hair, and she’s being pulling violently off the horse onto her knees, wrenched from the heat and safety of Sandor’s arms.

“Hey-“ Sandor is already moving, jumping off Stranger to try and catch her before she hits the floor. He isn’t quick enough, being yanked back with a knife to his throat as she slides out of his grip. 

The hand in her hair tightens, painful and not really helping her rising nausea. 

“How sweet,” one man teases, laughing as Sandor growls and attempts to pull away. 

“Don’t fucking touch her-“ 

“Or what?” One snaps back quickly, smirk falling into a snarl. “You took something of ours, so now I get to take something of yours.” He accentuates his words by twisting his hand, causing her to cry out, suddenly being jerked forward. She falls on her hands, losing her balance. They almost instantly go numb in the snow, like the bottom of her legs. 

She sees Sandor twitching out the corner of her eye, face like fire. He’s talking, swearing under his breath, cursing them to the seven hells. 

“Sandor, stop- Its okay, be quiet-“ she doesn’t mean to sound snappy with him, irritability and fear evident in her voice. She was quickly attempting to form a plan in her mind. Sandor snaps his mouth shut instantly, closing down completely and deciding instead to just watch the men like a hawk. 

“I’ll do what you want, a group of handsome men like yourselves is hardly a punishment anyway,” she forces the words out, attempting to smile seductively at the one still holding her hair. 

If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was flirt her way out of a situation. Especially when all 4 men involved couldn’t form a brain combined. She just hoped to the Gods that Sandor would catch on to her distraction. 

The hand tightens, but she takes that as a good thing, a peaked interest, also evident in the front of the man’s slacks. She makes a show of biting her bottom lip, looking up under long lashes. 

“What are you going to do to me though, sir? Aren’t you going to share?” she says softly, glancing at the other one as a hint. The man by his side squares up slightly in agreement. 

“Yeah, you heard the bitch. She wants to be shared. Women are made with more than one hole for a reason, might as well make the most of it,” they bark out a laugh, all except Sandor who is growing tenser by the second, his mind going wild with disgusting imaginings, things he’d rather die than watch happen to her. 

Her own heart is beating fast, stomach turning. The three of them waste little time then. The one with his hand in her hair quickly loosens the string of his trousers, forcing her face close to take in the musky smell and taste of a man who probably hasn’t washed in a while. Mouth forced open, she’s slow, trying to delay him. Distantly, she can feel the other hands ripping her skirt up, pushing her at an unnatural angle, trying to figure the best way to make this work, whilst arguing over who gets to fuck her where. 

She feels bad for Sandor, having to watch. But she also wishes he would move quicker so the touching and groping would end. She was just an object to these men, they’d probably kill her after anyway. 

She thinks she hears the telltale swipe of a knife against a throat, and for a second she chokes as she realises it may be Sandor. 

Oh god, they’ve killed him. And then they were going to kill her. She was stupid to think this would work, now she was truly fucked- What if they didn’t kill her? She’d have to live on as their whore, knowing that the last thing she let him hear was her begging for other men on her knees. 

Her fear was quashed when the man in her mouth suddenly freezes, no longer jerking her head forward. He crumples in front of her, vacant look etched onto his face as he hits the ground. 

Scrabbling around, she then tries to pull away form the other two men who have only just realised what’s happening, fumbling with their dicks and reaching for their swords, but it’s too late. 

Sandor is quick, an angry slash of the knife in his hand and they’re dead. 

Almost instantly she curls over to vomit, eyes and nose stinging as everything she’d compressed comes back up. Shivering uncontrollably, she wipes her face with the back of her hand and makes a small noise of both distress and relief. 

The four bodies are surrounding her, so warm and erratic, gone in a second. 

“Sandor, are you okay?” her voice shakes slightly, throat hoarse. 

She notices the slight scratch on his neck where the knife had been held, but other than that he’s unharmed. That doesn’t take away from the cold look on his face though. He doesn’t move to help her or cover her, he just kneels, panting and silent. He can’t even look at her, glancing at the bodies instead before pulling himself up abruptly and going to tend to Stranger who had remained relatively calm throughout the encounter, clearly used to the violence. 

“Get up,” he mumbles, glancing at her still on the floor, skirts tucked up around her thighs and waist. 

“Who were those men?” She whispers, frowning as she stumbles to her feet, light headed. 

No reply. 

“Are there other people you owe money? I’d like to know if there are, so I can prepare myself for next time I get jumped,” she grumbles bitterly, brushing the snow off her clothes and pulling her coat back around herself. 

Again, no reply. 

“Are you going to speak to me or not?” 

His lack of reply answers the question and she decides to leave him to brood on his own for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haven't had a chance to properly proof read the chapter so I'll be happy for any criticisms/mistakes to be pointed out, sorry my head is a mess at the moment and I feel like it shows in my writing, thank you so much to anyone who has continued to bear with me on this, I don't blame you if you haven't lmao


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions build, confessions are whispered...

Following him, they don’t go far before he decides to stop and tie Stranger up, using some trees as shelter. She notices he’s shaking, but not from cold. Adrenaline is still coursing through both of their veins. 

He dumps their stuff on the floor, sitting down on it with his back to her, loosening his shirt despite the cold, clearly uncomfortable, dark thoughts on his mind. 

“I never get tired of watching you fight like that,” she says softly eventually, slowly lowering herself onto his lap, cautious. 

Complacent, he just sits there, doesn’t touch her back or even acknowledge she’s there. 

“I wish I’d met you sooner, I don’t understand how you’ve been alone so long, you protect me like you’ve known me forever,” she whispers, kissing along his unscarred jawline lightly and lovingly. 

“I think I love you,” the words are so quiet he almost misses them, her lips brushing his ear. In fact, he thinks he’s imagined them, and realising he didn’t makes his heart swell, head going fuzzy. 

“Thank you, for finding me, I would have been dead by now if I hadn’t decided to steal your food that day,” she grins slightly against his skin, hand travelling down to his crotch, rubbing him with her palm. 

She doesn’t expect the suddenness with which he pushes her off him, onto the floor. 

“Hey-“ 

“All I can think of is those men touching you, defiling you. Not just those four back there, the ones in the fucking inn too. It’s disgusting me,” he growls, moving away slightly. “Don’t touch me.” 

Eyes narrowing, she crosses her arms in defiance. 

“You say it like I had a choice, like I wanted them to touch me-“ 

“Didn’t you?” he snaps. 

“You’re angry at me?”

“You fucking begged them to touch you.” 

“As a distraction!” she can’t believe what she’s hearing, her mouth falling open slightly in shock. 

He goes silent again, looking into the distance, away from her, stabbing his sword into the snow like a petulant child. 

They sit there for a second before she angrily stands up, “You know what, fuck you,” she hisses. “I take back what I said. You’re just an asshole.” 

With that, she grabs another fur coat, storming off.

She doesn’t even know where she’s going, just walking as far from him as she can get. It’s pure luck that she stumbles across a small house, or what used to be a house. Half of it had fallen down, but the other half would make a good place to sleep. She had no intention of going back to him if he thought that of her, and she couldn’t feel her fingers or toes anymore. 

Inside the building is empty except for a table, some broken chairs and a blood stained blanket. She tries not to touch anything, but uses the remains of the chair to start a fire. Her fingers are so numb it takes her a while to do it, but when she has, she lays as close to it as she can. Without warning, an overwhelming sadness fills her and she starts to cry. She’s shocked by the abruptness of the emotion, having not cried since she was a little girl. 

“Stupid girl,” she mumbles to herself, she feels like she can’t control her feelings as of late, every day was a rollercoaster. Blaming Sandor, she cries herself to sleep in front of the warmth of the fire. 

***** 

Bang. 

It takes way too long for her to wake up, realise where she is and what’s happening. Had it not been Sandor slamming the door open, she would probably have been killed within those precious seconds. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t kill her in her sleepy haze. No, he just storms over to her, ripping the fur away. The fire had almost died but not quite. 

“Hey! You bastard, give it back,” she cries, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. 

“Do you have a death wish, girl?” he throws it back at her now she’s fully awake. “Storming off like that, what if there had been more of the men hanging around these areas? Fucking stupid, you are.” 

“Thanks,” she mumbles sarcastically, shaking her head. “Now would you excuse me, I’m going to be sick,” she says matter of factly, stumbling up and pushing past him outside, only able to vomit up bile. She was so hungry, she forgot they hadn’t eaten last night before she’d run away. She tries to ignore the fact the snow is also now tainted with blood, only a little bit, but still enough to cause concern, stark against the white of the snow. 

“I think I’m sick,” she sighs quietly to him when she comes back in. 

He just watches her come back, watches the way her head is bowed in discomfort as she kneels down and tries to stoke the fire. 

Taking a deep breath, he sighs, gently patting her away from the fire, pulling the furs up to cover her properly. 

“Sit,” he says quietly, “I’ve got something for you to eat. I’ll do the fire, you’ll burn yourself if you keep poking it like that,” he scolds. She can see his uncomfortable he still is with being that close to the flame but he carries on regardless, doing what he has to to keep her warm.

“How did you know I was here, anyway?” 

“I saw the smoke, you aren’t very fucking good at hiding, it’s a good thing it was only me looking for you.” 

She blushes, hiding her face in the soft of the coat, closing her tired eyes. Turns out the stone floor wasn’t very comfortable. 

“I’m so hungry, I’m always hungry,” she moans, rubbing her stomach slightly where it’s cramping. “And I’m so bloated, I look like I’m just full of air,” she pouts, looking down at where her stomach was once flat not too many weeks ago. 

“You don’t look any different,” he rolls his eyes, glancing at her. “You women and your fucking insecurities,” he grumbles. “I do think you may have a fever though, serves you right for running off like that last night.”

Silence falls again as he feeds her some food he’d saved from last night, watching her devour it. It isn’t an uncomfortable silence like before though. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, genuinely grateful then he wasn’t angry and upset any more, finishing the food. 

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m sorry;” he whispers. Big hands are pulling her close to his body, burying her face into his neck. 

“What for?” 

“For talking to you like that last night, it’s not true, I don’t think you wanted to fuck those men, I just feel like I’m not doing enough to stop these people from hurting you all the time. And then you said you…you love me…and it made me feel like more of a failure. You don’t love me, girl. I’m a waste of space, unlovable, especially by such a pretty woman like yourself. You should be off, fucking equally pretty men, men who can protect you.” 

“Stop,” she sighs, kissing his neck, up to his lips, gentle at first. “I meant what I said. It’s up to you to believe it though.” 

They leave it at that, he doesn’t speak again for a while, he can’t while his mouth is preoccupied with hers. She wants to kiss him forever, curled in his lap. 

“I’m going to teach you to fight,” he kisses along her collar between words. “You need to learn to protect yourself when I can’t.” 

“You’re going to actually teach me? You mean, with a sword? And my hands?” she grins, trying to suppress her excitement. 

“Don’t look so pleased, girl. You won’t be smiling like that after I’ve covered you in cuts and bruises,” he sighs, the thought evidently disgruntling him. “After I leave you, muscles aching, body exhausted. You know I don’t go fucking easy.” 

If anything, his words make her grin more. She shifts on his lap, spreading her legs and grabbing his hand, guiding it to where she wants it, encouraging his fingers to slowly rub her. 

“Who said I didn’t like that? Isn’t that what you did to me the other night?” she actually giggles, finding herself hilarious. If anything, he just raises his good eyebrow at her, entertaining her movements though as he does.

“I’d let you do anything to me,” she whispers, letting out a quiet whimper as his fingers continue steadily. 

“When you talk like that, it makes me think you should be in a whorehouse.” 

“Ha, you’re real funny,” she mumbles sarcastically. “I’ve had my fair share of experience in those places, there’s only so long a girl can survive without food,” she says bitterly. 

His hand stops and he sighs. “Great, now all I can think of is all the other men who have fucked your whore cunt,” he growls. 

“You’re so fucking rude,” she pulls away, “Just leave me hanging then, I’ll remember that next time I’m sat on your cock,” she shrugs, laughing to herself. 

“Now, do you have any ale left? I’m thirsty.” 

He just laughs at her, shaking his head. “No, that all went last night. We’ll keep travelling tomorrow. Get some rest today, then we’ll find the next village and stay for a few nights.” 

***** 

It turns out, there aren’t many villages near them. They ride Stranger for hours, covering miles and miles. 

She sleeps as much as she can, he seems to never sleep, always vigilant, watching the horizon in each direction for hidden dangers. 

Whenever they stumble across a house or cottage, they try their luck. He always enters first, hoping for it to be abandoned. When it isn’t, she steps in, turning on the charm. 

“I’m so sorry, we thought it was empty-“ she says gently, reaching her hands out in an open and calming gesture. The man and woman in the house, who had been enjoying their dinner, what small dinner it was, are tense, eyes flickering between the two of them, hesitating longer on the Hound. 

They’re clearly scared, having been interrupted so rudely. That was a reasonable reaction to have when two strangers walk into your home. 

“We’ll leave, it’s okay… I was just so cold and fear I’m catching a fever, and my husband,” she gestures towards Sandor, “suggested find somewhere to stay, just for a few nights… We can find an Inn anywhere… if you could point us in the right direction? That would be so helpful…” Sandor grunts slightly behind her and she glares over her shoulder at him. 

The woman glances at her own husband, biting her lip. “It’s okay. They’re not going to hurt us,” she whispers to him and he visibly relaxes slightly. “The next inn isn’t for miles still. We’re quite secluded on this farm.”

“Come on, Sandor, let’s leave the poor lady in peace then. Thank you anyway.” They slowly move to leave when she feels a gentle hand on her arm. 

“Wait, it’s okay, I can see you shaking, you’ll catch a death of cold if you go back out tonight. We have a barn out the back, you can stay there,” the woman says softly. She’s older, probably has children who have grown up by now, maybe they’re lonely and genuinely wouldn’t mind the company? 

“Thank you, thank you, we’re so grateful, that would be amazing, we’ll be out of your hair by the morning-“ she smiles, placing her own hand over the woman’s. The two men in the room look anxious still, staring at each other. 

“Here, take this,” the lady gives them two bowls of warm food, “Just please…leave by the morning,” she adds in a whisper, glancing towards her husband anxiously. 

“I would pay you if I could-“ she starts. 

“But we can’t,” Sandor interrupts. She glares at him again. 

They’re shown the barn, she makes idle small talk with the older woman, giggling together as they talk about their men. 

When she eventually leaves, she turns to Sandor and whacks him on the arm. “I thought we agreed, you aren’t to talk to them! You just scare them away with your rudeness!” she scolds, but it hardly makes a difference as he’s already scoffing his face with the warm food. “You don’t have any manners, do you?” she grumbles, begrudgingly tucking into her own food. She’s starving, she only just realises how hungry she really is as she’s shovelling the delicious warmth down her throat. 

Frustratingly, the food doesn’t stay down. Just as she’s finished and ready to settle down she’s rushing out, being sick in the snow again. He hesitates, but does come out this time to help her, rubbing her back softly until she’s stopped retching. 

When they’ve finished, they go back inside and she cuddles closely to him, despite his protests about her breath. They use the hay to make a bed. It’s much warmer than anything else they would have been able to piece together that night, and she’s thankful the woman empathised and took pity on her. 

“It’s strange to think how different our lives would be if they hadn’t crossed paths,” she says softly into the darkness. “Where would we be?” 

“In a place much warmer than this, probably,” he grumbles. 

“Warmer than sleeping with me? Not possible, you’d be all alone,” she teases, running a hand along his chest, under his shirt. 

“Did you mean what you said? The other week?” 

“What?” she mumbles, half asleep already. 

“That you love me?” 

“I mean everything I say,” she mumbles, yawning. Before he can ask her any more questions, she’s asleep, breath fluttering against the hairs on his chest. 

Perhaps he loves her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kinda a dead chapter lol soz more smut to come


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sickening smut and fluff, Sandor is uncharacteristically loving

The kind woman let them stay longer than she originally agreed to. They were fed and kept warm, Sandor helped the husband on the farm and she would help the woman with the housework. Eventually their time ran out though. 

Admittedly, Sandor had a scuffle with the husband, his insecure mind concluding that the dirty fucker had been eyeing up his woman. Consequently, he reacted badly. 

“Why did you have to punch him? Was it really necessary?” 

“He fucking looked at you.” 

“People are allowed to look at me, Sandor!” 

“No they’re not,” he looks extremely close to pouting as he says the words. 

“You’re a jealous pig,” she grumbles, shaking her head. “We had a good thing, now we’re back on our own again. No more hot food,” she sighs. 

“You never kept any of it down anyway,” he snaps. 

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it.”

Scowling, they travel in silence. She’s angry at how he acted, but a small part of her likes it. The jealousy turns her on, the thought of him doing that just because someone /looked/ at her, she wonders what he’d do if they did worse.

She’s given the day to think these thoughts, and wonder about different situations or scenarios in her head, when they eventually stop again. 

“There aren’t any villages around here. We’ll have to stay here for the night. The woman said the next one won’t be for another 3 days riding.” 

“Fine. At least we have the river to bath in and drink from, probably not in that order though judging by the smell of you,” she scowls slightly.

“It’ll be fucking freezing in there, girl. It’s almost winter,” he says digruntingly, but winces slightly when he sniffs his own furs. 

“We’ll keep each other warm,” she smirks. They’ve barely set up the camp and the fire when she’s started stripping, pulling the layers off quickly so she can’t change her mind, until she’s standing, naked and shivering slightly. 

He watches her so closely he can nearly see the goosebumps form across her skin as she waits for him to join in.

“Well? Come on, then?” 

He takes a second, but decides he shouldn’t give up the opportunity to get naked with a beautiful woman. 

Giggling, she eventually persuades him to climb into the water with her. It’s clear, she can see straight to the bottom, to the soft moss of the ragged rocks beneath her feet. When the water goes above her waist the air leaves her chest suddenly at how cold it is, their breathing quickening and Sandor’s whining becoming louder. 

“Shut up, you big baby. You’re worse than me, complaining that it’s a little bit cold, I thought you were tough, I thought you killed men for me, but you can’t handle some water?”she goads through slightly chattering teeth, smirking and trying to think herself warmer. 

He just glares at her, “I can feel my cock crawling back into my body,” he grumbles, hand covering his manhood in an attempt to warm it up. “Stupid fucking idea,” he whines, closing his eyes and counting to ten. “This is the last time I do what you say, even if you flash that pretty cunt again to me next time, I won’t be fooled.”

She raises an eyebrow at him and swims closer, ignoring the aching cold seeping into her muscles and bones, taking his hand and pushing him against a large rock, jutting out of the water on the bank. He slides down it with protest, sitting on the rock so his shoulders are under the water. 

“I know how I can keep you warm,” she whispers, ignoring how cliché the words sound, deciding to straddle his legs, gasping at the cool water now against and between her spread thighs. The coolness is quickly replaced with the feeling of Sandor’s skin. He’s still warm, despite his complaints, and she feels him heat her up to the core as soon as she touches him. 

“I know how to coax that cock of yours back out as well,” she smirks smugly, hand replacing his, a pale and thin contrast to his own. His hand could cover his cock, just about, whereas hers could only wrap around half of it. That didn’t stop her though, and it certainly didn’t stop him from hardening when her thin fingers began to stroke, squeezing systematically in time with her own throbbing cunt. 

“I’m so cold Sandor, warm me up,” she whimpers against his lips, pouting and nipping softly.

“Where are you cold?” his disgruntingly replies, gasping involuntarily as she shifts so her soft folds and rubbing up the length of his cock, her hand pressing him against her, not entering. 

“Inside, I’m so cold inside… Need you to warm up my pretty cunt,” she would have grinned at how the older man froze at the words, but was too taken by surprise when he suddenly gripped her hips with his large hands, forcing her movement harder, grinding his cock against her with more force and direction. 

She didn’t expect one of his hands to reach up, pinch her sensitive nipple, a hard pebble just above the cold surface of the water. The loud gasp and moan which followed were not in her control, neither was the heat that rushed between her legs, warming her up, making her impossibly wetter and more desperate. 

“Fuck, Sandor- Please-“ 

“What are you begging for, little girl?” he growled, a predator, now entirely in control. She liked to think she was in control of him, but it was a dangerous game, it almost made her forget what a strong beast he was, how he could snap her bones with one hand if he wanted to. He could rip her sensitive bud right off her left breast with one twist of his fingers if she wasn’t careful. 

The thought almost made her come there and then. 

“Lost for words? Maybe I should let you get cold more often, give me some fucking peace and quiet,” he teases with a smirk and she just whines pathetically girlishly, trying to glare but failing when arousal clouds her face. 

“Maybe I should warm these up with my mouth,” he growls, and before she can think about what he means, his lips are mouthing at her nipple, warm and wet. The sensation is smothering, sending sparks straight down to her groin when his tongue swirls around the bud, suckling almost delicately, until his teeth begin to nip. 

“Oh Gods-“ she moans, head falling back and mouth opening in a silent cry. Her free hand, the one that isn’t on his cock, comes up to the back of his head, clenching in his hair, keeping his head to her breast as much as she can until he eventually pulls away, smug as fuck. 

“Now, I can’t give one all the attention, can I?” he kisses her lips lightly and ducks down to make work of the other, cold and aching. 

“Fuck, Sandor- I can’t- I need you,” she whimpers, a hot mess from just a little while with his lips. 

“Need me? Where do you need me? I thought I was helping to warm you up?” he smirked and she glared at him, kissing his smug lips hard. 

“You’re just teasing me, you fucker. Now so help me Gods, if you don’t get your cock inside me in the next 10 seconds I will leave you with the bluest balls you’ve ever-“ she’s cut off before she can finish the threat with her own gasp as he pushes himself inside her without warning. She’d forgotten the burn, the sweet aching burn of having him push her to her limits, ripping her apart from the inside. 

“You’re so big-“ she whimpered, mind glazing over as she word vomited the first thoughts that came to her head, ignoring the teasing look she got in return. 

“Maybe I’m not big, little girl. Your cunt is just tight, so fucking tight for me. Maybe I need to train you, train you to take it without feeling like you’ll rip my cock off if you tense too hard,” he mumbles, shaking his head and pulling her hips down harder onto him, a slight desperation coming over him when she does tense, involuntarily. 

“You need to relax, it’ll hurt you more otherwise-“ even in his sex haze, unlike the first time, he did actually have concerns for her wellbeing. He didn’t want to permanently damage the little thing, or scare her away. He realises that he was feeling possessive, and protective. He was starting to consider her as his, and he didn’t want his property damaged. 

“As long as it’s you Sandor, I don’t mind, you can hurt me if you want, please, take me however you want-“ she sobbed, in the throes of arousal. “I feel like I did last time, when you rubbed me, I think it’s happening again-“ her own hand wandered down to touch her clit, sending her muscles into a frenzy. 

“You mean come, you think you’re going to come?” he growled, the thought making him speed up more, like a race, trying to catch up with her impending orgasm with his own. 

“I’m…I’m going to come, yes-“ she tested the words out, foreign on her lips, blushing as she said them. They sent a thrill through Sandor, and suddenly all he could think about was coming in her.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, I’m going to come too, I’m going to put my seed in your tight whore cunt, because that’s what you fucking want isn’t it? Say it,” he growled, hand reaching to grip her jaw, snapping her head down, forcing her to face him, look him in the eye as she moaned the words, filthy and true. 

“Please, Sandor, I want you to put your seed in me-“ as she says the words, she feels his hips stutter as he comes inside her, and the feeling rips her own orgasm from her, body convulsing, muscles tense, practically screaming his name. 

She doesn’t know how long they sit there, arms wrapped tightly around him as though she’s scared he’ll leave her, or as though she’ll wake up and it’ll be a dream. But she can feel him softening inside her. That doesn’t stop her from protesting when he shifts slightly, pulling out. Her arms only tighten around him, a quiet sob escaping her lips. 

“No, please-“ 

“I have to pull out, sweet girl. Otherwise it’ll start to hurt, both of us,” he says gently, kissing her head and stroking her hair softly. “I’m not going to let go of you, okay?” This is a side of him he isn’t used to experiencing or feeling, the overwhelming need to protect her, especially in as fragile a state she seemed to be in now. 

This wasn’t how it usually went, when he unloaded himself in a woman he’d leave them, as quickly as he could, he certainly didn’t want to hold them like this. But she made him feel different. 

That’s why he continued to stroke her wet hair and kiss along her jaw unthreateningly. It was the most affection she felt like he’d ever displayed to her, and she realised that she really needed that right now. 

“No one else has ever fucked you and made you come before then?” he smirked slightly and whispered softly after a while, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. 

The blush that arose to her face said it all. 

“No… I’ve never felt that kind of pleasure before… It felt like my body was going to explode, and my heart would simply give in,” she mumbled against his neck, pressing her face there shyly. 

“Fuck, maybe you’re not as fucking dirty as I thought.”

She shrugged slightly, “Men just take what they want, they never care about how we feel, only how they feel, and making sure they finish properly. I didn’t even know it was possible for my body to… to experience that. Until I met you.” 

He can’t help the feeling of jealousy that arises at the thought of other men just using her, but he can’t help the feeling of satisfaction either, satisfaction at knowing he was able to give her that. 

They stay like that a little while longer until he notices her shaking against him, muscles spasming involuntarily, arms tightening around him as she tried to get impossibly closer. 

“You’re cold, fuck, let’s get you warmed up,” he mumbles, frowning and cursing himself at not noticing sooner. 

“I’m fine,” she lied, stopping her teeth from chattering by pressing her mouth more against his warm skin, closing her eyes. 

“You know, you can fucking admit to me when you need help, I’m not going to think you’re weak, you’re one of the strongest fucking women I’ve met in a long time, let me look after you for a while,” he mumbles as he effortlessly lifts her up and climbs out of the water, as though she weighed nothing, legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

The cool air just made her shiver more, letting out a quiet moan of pain. 

The fire hadn’t gone out, and the furs she’d left beside it along with their clothes had kept warm. Wrapping her up, he then placed her close to the fire, as close as he was willing to go, and wrapped his own body around behind her with the furs. 

She hadn’t felt so safe in years. But a small part of her still wanted to cry, and she had no idea why. The tears were already falling down her face before she could stop them, wiping furiously at them with the back of her hand in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice.

“Hey, hey, why are you crying? What’s wrong? Fuck-“ he clearly seemed panicked when he did notice, crying women wasn’t something he knew how to deal with, he’d usually done something wrong to make them cry. 

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong… I’m just… I don’t know…” she shrugged honestly, biting her lip and sniffling rather unattractively. “Just… hold me… keep holding me…” she whispered, voice so quiet he barely heard. 

But he did hear, and his arms tightened around her. 

“It’s alright, little bird, I won’t be letting go any time soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the absence, but I'm back and I've actually got some chapters drafted out so if should be more regular for the next few weeks! Thank you if you're still reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings for violence and all that, no longer so fluffy I'm afraid

She wakes up aching all over, but she doesn’t want to move and relight the fire when the arms wrapped around her are so warm and comforting. Eventually her hands go numb, so she decides she has to. 

When she’s up, she sits next to the fire, stoking it gently and building it up, ignoring the noises of protest she hears from behind her. 

“Stop playing with the flames, girl,” he grumbled, tugging at the back of her clothes, the ugly baggy shirt she’d borrowed from the farmers when they’d been staying there. Sandor had obviously helped her put it on when she got cold in the night. 

“No, I’m bloody freezing,” she raised an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. When there’s a comfortable heat being radiated again, she turns around to kiss him again. 

“Where’s my dress? It’s impractical but warmer than this thing,” she mumbles, grimacing as she tugs the thin white fabric hanging loose off her body. 

“Near Stranger.” 

She rolls her eyes at the lack of detail and help, but goes over to Stranger, searching around in what little fabric they have to find the dress. 

She can tell he’s watching her, his eyes roaming her body as she slowly pulls the shirt off from the hem, over her head, the only item of clothing she was currently wearing. 

“Hey-“ 

She pauses at his voice, the dress only pulled up to her thighs, glancing up, tucking her hair behind her ear where it’d fallen over her face. 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

Frowning, she struggles with the fabric, trying to pull it on quicker so she can go over to him. 

“No, don’t bother- Fuck the dress for a moment-“ 

Stumbling closer to him, the dress trailing behind her, she frowns at him. 

“What’s wrong with you today?” 

His hand reaches up, touching the curve of her belly with his calloused fingers, genuine curiosity on his face. 

“What-“ 

“How are you so thin, but your belly is so full?” he mumbles, “You look rounder, girl. You sneaking food behind my back? Not sharing it with me?” he teases, grinning at her from where he was sat. 

“You’re so rude, I’m probably just bloated from the shit you keep feeding me,” she whines, blush spreading across her cheeks in embarrassment at the scrutiny and intensity of his studying her. “Do you want me to be thinner?” she mumbles, insecurity flaring, covering herself suddenly, fumbling with the dress, pulling it up. 

“Hey, you know that’s not what I fucking meant,” he sighs, shaking his head, hands going to her hips and pulling her down onto his lap. “I think you’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers the words against her skin, smirking as his lips trail along her collarbone, fingers tugging the top of her dress down her shoulders. “What evil God decided to draw you into the snare of such an ugly beast like myself?” 

“Hey, stop,” she breaks into a smile, words contradicting what she actually felt. “We can’t sit around and fuck all day,” she rolls her eyes, regrettably pulling herself out of his arms. 

“Now, will you please tie this fucking thing up for me,” she turns her back on him, allowing his fingers to untangle the strings, pulling them tight around her stomach, they still fall slack across her shoulders though, too big. 

“Where’s your sword? I want to practise.” 

“You should practise with your hands, girl. You aren’t always going to be able to grab a weapon,” he states matter of factly, laying back and putting his own hands behind his head, watching the sky. 

“Can I practise with you?” 

“No, I’m sleeping.” 

Rolling her eyes, she glares at him, mumbling obscenities under her breath as she walks away, searching for a tree to practise against instead. 

She finds one, an old oak, using it as a target. Gods know how many hours later, it’s a broken mess when she’s finished with it. She’d practised with her knife, throwing it, frustrated at first where her lack of practise came to light. By the end of it she was throwing it consecutively from different distances and angles without missing a single time. Only then did she stop, sit down, and take a break. 

She studied her knuckles, bloody and bruised from attempting to toughen them up against the cruel bark. The contrast between the red and the pale of her skin fascinated her. The way the liquid trickled down her palm in drops was almost therapeutic. 

Her hands moved, down to the bulging stomach under her dress. She sat there for a while, fingers rubbing gently, absentmindedly thinking about Sandor and where her life had taken her. 

The thought that came into her head at that moment struck her like a brick. 

Her hand pressed hard into her skin, as though she could will away the thought through pain. 

“Fuck. Fuck-“ 

She was going to cry, this was not good, not good at all.

“You sound like me, girl,” the gruff voice comes from the trees as Sandor emerges. 

Tutting, he approaches her, reaching down to grip her bruised hands, pulling her to her feet. 

“Bloodying yourself up isn’t going to make you more useful,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes as he studies the fresh cuts. 

His words aren’t really processing, swimming around her head as she thinks more about the pressing issue that’d been rudely pushed to the forefront of her mind. 

He’s still talking when she cuts him off, “Hey, shut up for a second- You never fucking talk and now you won’t stop-“ 

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he growls, the soft grip on her hands turning more cruel, twisting slightly. “What’s wrong with you, girl?” 

“I think… I’m pregnant.” 

The silence that follows falls like a weight, heavy on her chest, crushing her completely. He just stares at her, blank. 

“You’re not funny. You didn’t strike me as a liar.” 

The word liar hurts her more than it should, feeling like a punch to the face. 

“I’m not lying. I haven’t bled in months… Since we… in the woods… I keep being sick, and I’ve put on so much weight…” the words are coming out quickly, word vomiting her thoughts. 

“Fuck, shut the fuck up, you’re lying to me-“ it’s the first emotion she’s felt from him since saying it, and it’s not exactly the emotion she’d like to feel. He’s angry, properly angry. 

“I’m not!” she snaps. 

“Well then it isn’t fucking mine, you’re a whore, who else have you been fucking when I’m not looking?” The words are so angry, accusatory.

“I’ve been with you constantly! You know that’s not rational, Sandor-“ she tries to reason, pushing on his chest slightly in hurt. 

“You bitch, you trapped me, this is what you wanted all along-“ 

“Stop it, I know you’re scared, and shocked, so am I-“ 

“No, you don’t know anything.” 

The hand that grips the back of her neck suddenly, pulling her closer to him, makes her realise how real this is, how angry he is. His other hand is on her throat, gripping tighter than necessarily safe. The lack of oxygen doesn’t exactly help the dizzying overwhelming feeling filling her chest and head.

“I should have just fucked you bloody then cut your throat when I found you trying to steal my things, that’s what the other men should have done too, would have saved us this fucking problem,” the words are so quiet in her face, but the full impact is harsh and cruel. 

Her eyes drop, submissive instinct when his hand tightens once last time before pulling away. 

“You’re a fucking monster,” she mumbles. He pauses, about to turn away, but attention reignited by her words. “And no, I don’t mean your face. I mean inside. You’re a horrible man, you hurt me more than I think you even realise. And fuck, if you do realise, that makes it even worse.” 

A laugh is forced out, shallow and empty, cold and mocking. It scares her and she instantly regrets saying the words. 

She’s pulled the knife out on him before he even fully turns around to face her, feeling like it was the only appropriate thing to do. Clearly, Sandor thinks the opposite. 

“What the fuck are you doing, little girl?” he laughs again, but quickly stops when she advances on him. Admittedly, she didn’t really think as far in advance as actual contact. 

“You’re such an asshole-“ embarrassingly, she feels herself crying, swinging her arm up with the knife in an attempt to strike him. He grips her arm without effort, twisting it painfully so she dropped the knife, making it look so easy. 

Wrenching her arm away eventually and with struggle, only free when he decides to let go, she tries again, this time with fists. She barely lands a blow when he snaps, clearly having tried to remain calm for as long as he could. This time she receives the blow, across her face, flashbacks to last time coming back to her as she loses her balance and falls backwards, landing awkwardly on her ass and elbow, good hand instantly going to her bruised jaw. She can’t tell if she’s feeling blood, snot or tears on her face, or maybe just a combination of all. 

She lets out a whimper of pain against her will, hand then going to her stomach without thinking, a sharp cramp quickly following. 

Fuck. She’d estimate a rough 4 months of being in this state, getting pushed on the floor probably wasn’t on the list of recommended things for expectant mothers. 

Shaking, her hand slowly makes its way between her own legs, nervous fingers coming back wet. She was bleeding. 

“I hate you.” 

That was the last thing he heard her whisper, taking another look at her, before being unable to watch her bloody and bruised on the floor any longer, deciding to walk away instead.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's a couple of hours later than I planned but here's the next chapter for you!

He didn’t sleep that night, subconsciously, or consciously, waiting for her to return. He wanted to apologise to her, wanted to kiss her better, tell her it would all be okay, that he’d dreamt about her in this state, swollen belly full of his baby, pottering around a lovely little house in the middle of no where, somewhere they could be safe. 

But she didn’t come back. Not after the first night. Or the second night. It made him feel so alone. He only just realised how quiet the world was, especially without her constant shit chatting about nothing and everything. 

He had no one left to tell him when he was being an asshole or doing something wrong, no one to call him out on his bullshit. 

He decides on the third day that he can’t just sit around waiting for her anymore. He packed his stuff up, then tried one last time to find her, going back to where he left her. There was a big patch of dried blood, but that was all that was left. He could swear it was a lot bigger than it should have been, she wasn’t bleeding that much when he left her, and if she was, how could she have left? She wouldn’t have been able to travel that far. 

The only thing he could think of was that the wolves had gotten her. But he’d rather not settle for that fate in his mind. It would be his fault if she had. 

Fuck, if he’d just gone back to help her, bitten back on his stubbornness, just picked her up and brought her back, taken care of her through the anger until he realised how badly he’d reacted. 

“Stupid bitch,” although he tried to blame her in his mind as he said the words, he still blamed himself. 

Of course she hadn’t slept around, she was with him constantly, he’d been stupid to say it. 

After checking the perimeter, he decides she’s no longer there. Instead, he just travels to the next village he can find. If she’s somewhere alive, it’d be there, not in the middle of the woods, she wouldn’t last a second on her own out there. 

As soon as he reaches one, he goes to the first inn he can find, buying himself as much ale as he can afford, drinking it in quick succession. It works, he doesn’t feel anxious or worried anymore, instead the alcohol makes him feel angry, angry that she’d do this to him, leave him like this. 

He notices some men to his right, laughing and glancing at him every now and again. 

“The fuck are you looking at? Is it my face? I can do the same to you if you want, then you’ll be able to stare at it every fucking day.” 

“Is your face the reason you’re drinking so fucking much?” one of them remarks, raising an eyebrow. 

“No,” he growls, taking another swig. After a pause, he mumbles, “My girl fucked off a few nights ago, haven’t seen her.” He doesn’t really know why he shares that with them, the alcohol had made his tongue loose. 

“I ain’t surprised, with a face like that,” one of them snickers. His friend jabs him in the ribs, rolling his eyes. 

“What does she look like?” the other one asks. 

“Long hair, fucking skinny, pretty face, but she’s probably got a bloody lip and swollen eye right now, if you’ve seen her,” he grumbles, staring into the ever emptying cup in his hands. 

“Yeah I might have seen her, you checked the whorehouse lately?” one of them smirks, starting the others off in a laughing fit again at his expense. 

His hand tightens on his cup in anger, but he’s decided he’s spent too much time fucking people’s faces up lately, and that was a new feeling for him. 

“Today really isn’t the fucking day to fuck with me,” he’s closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, their laughter slowly dies off. 

“Is that so?” This voice isn’t from the group that were mocking him, it’s from behind him, and instantly makes his hairs stand on end. 

His whole body goes cold, his heart almost stopping. He doesn’t even have to turn around, head spinning as his vision went thin. 

“Brother?” He commends himself for keeping the shake and fear out of his voice. 

“I can’t lie and say I’ve missed you. You’re in big fucking trouble, brother.” 

He’s too drunk to react to the heavy metal hand that strikes him, out cold instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how shitty I am at actually updating but work has been fucking me up the asshole lately, I promise I have another chapter ready, and I'm sorry this one is so short! But the comments I've been having are overwhelmingly appreciative and positive so thank you for that, they're what keep me writing! The next chapter will be much longer and harder hitting so if you're prepared to bear with me then thank you again x


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lol this is the big chapter, BIG WARNINGS graphic rape/torture etc.

He wakes up on his horse, hands tied, sword gone, head swimming and pain behind his eyes. For a second, he wanders why she isn’t next to him, and then he remembers, and his whole body goes numb. 

“Where are you taking me?” He mumbles eventually. 

“Back to your little bitch, she has something for you.” It’s his brother that replies to him, smugness evident in his voice, despite the lack of facial expression.

It sets his mind on fire, the mention of her. Fuck. This was worse than the wolves. Much fucking worse. 

“How did you find her? And me?” his voice is quieter after learning this new information, fear more present. He suddenly had a lot to lose. 

“Well, she didn’t exactly fight, not in the state you left her. I’ll give it to you, she did try, bless her. You picked a tough one, just a shame someone else had gotten to her before us. Bloodied her up pretty badly, I guess we just finished her off. And you? You’re pretty difficult to fucking miss, with that ugly burnt face.”

Sandor doesn’t ask anymore questions, even if he had his brother wouldn’t have answered. He never fucking spoke usually, he was only talking now because he was so smug and arrogant. He had Sandor exactly where he wanted him, trapped.

With the impending thought of seeing her again, dead or maybe alive, time seems to go so slowly. It takes what seems like hours to get to where they’re going. He doesn’t even know where that is, he wasn’t paying attention to the journey above his anxiety. 

He’s dragged off Stranger violently, grunting as he almost stumbles onto his ass with the force. He’s being tugged by the ropes on his wrists, pulled into a building that looks like it hasn’t been used in years, dark and cold.

Voices drift across to him, and noises, noises that drill straight into his head. 

He’ll never forget those noises, to the day he dies. 

The sound of skin on skin, he doesn’t want to think about what’s causing the noises. After a second, he hears a small sound, a high whimper, a sharp cry. He knew that voice, he knew those sounds, he hates to admit that he’d caused those cries before. 

Pain, she was in pain. 

“Fuck, what are they doing to her-“ 

The only reply he receives is a kick, hard, to the back of his leg, causing him to swear and stumble. 

The sight makes it all the more real. On the one hand, he was relieved that she was alive. On the other hand, she was barely alive at that. Her face was worse than he’d left her, fresh bruises coating her skin, purple hand marks around her wrists and neck, her shoulders blue and her dress, what was left of it, was hanging in tatters from her skin. Most of it had been cut or ripped away, exposing her body in full crudeness. 

He wants to kill the men towering over her, an uncontrollable rage taking over his body. He doesn’t even manage to injure anyone though, the ropes restricting him as he struggled, attempting to lunge at one of them, bite them, anything. He resorts to just shouting at them, cursing them to the Hells. 

She doesn’t even register that he’s in the room, eyes trained on the floor in front of her. 

“What is this? Why the fuck are you doing this?” he growls, pushed roughly to sit on a bench that’d been placed in front of her. Hands on his shoulders force him down.

“Well, brother. The queen sent me. You abandoned Kings Landing in great disgrace. A traitor, my own flesh and blood,” he spits at Sandor’s feet in disgust. “It took us a while to find you, but when we did, what a fucking field day we had when we found this bitch with you too. What did you do, buy her from the first brothel you found?” The men surrounding him bark out laughs, one close to her pulls her up by her wrist roughly, copping a feel of her breasts despite protest. 

“She’s too skinny for a whore, sir. Not enough tits,” they laugh again, mocking and cold. When he shoves her back down, she lands on her hands and knees, grimacing. 

“Shame you’ve already bred the bitch, I would have liked my own seed growing in her, she’s a tough one, think of how tough our child would have been. Oh well, maybe I can wait until she’s pushed yours out first, we’ll see how fast her cunt bounces back, aye? After all, it is a lovely cunt…” his hand reaches down between her legs, exploratory and uninvited, smirking as she gasps at the intrusion, wincing. 

“Fuck you,” she manages to spit out, pulling away until a hand grips her hair instead. They pull her back, head snapping with the movement, fingers instinctively grappling at the source of the pain. Then he’s forced to watch as she’s slapped, blow after blow across her face until she’s left spinning and they grow bored.

She collapses onto her front this time, fingers clenching at the Earth beneath her, anything to anchor her mind and body so she could get through this. 

“This is your punishment, Hound. We have to set an example to other traitors, you’re lucky we’re so far from Kings Landing otherwise we’d be doing this in front of a crowd there. And if she has to go through it too, then that’s on your head.” 

With that, strong hands grip her hips, pulling them back up at the right angle, holding her when her knees give out against the cold floor. Forcing her thighs apart, she really tries to fight it, but her muscles just won’t co-operate. Shes’s never felt so weak. 

Flashbacks to when this has happened before resurface in her memories, when the Mountain had raided and raped her village, killed her parents. The horrible nightmare was happening again, and this time there seemed like even less chance of escape. 

Sandor just watches, muscles spasming in protest, as though it’s him being abused. It’s futile. He wants to protect her, needs to, but he can’t. He was a failure of a man, he always would be. This was his fault. His brother was about to rape the only woman he thinks he’s ever loved, and he was helpless to stop it.

It almost destroys him, hearing her scream when he forces himself inside her. The moan from Gregor sets his teeth on edge, and it’s followed by a quiet moan from her. He can see on her face the pain she’s in, her mouth open in a constant grimace. He swears she stops breathing at one point, holding her breath and wishing for it to be over. 

She’s so small, so fragile compared to him. Like a tiny rag doll, being tossed around by a sadistic master, body manipulated to please him in ways it struggled to stretch to. 

She still hasn’t looked at him, too scared to look anyone in the eye, especially him. If she did, she knew she’d crack and break and it would all be over. She would have lost. 

“Fuck, at least her cunt is still tight, although that’s probably to be expected with how small your cock is, brother,” he remarks snidely, earning more laughter from the men watching, getting off on seeing this woman be violated in such a way. 

She’s hit again when she tries to squirm away, crying out sharply at every thrust. It wasn’t the good kind of pain, the one that tipped into pleasure with Sandor, it was just plain torture and abuse. 

She almost sighed with relief when he finally finished, giving one last particularly brutal shove of his hips before bottoming out and grunting. She could feel him, pulsing inside her, then pulling away and pushing her back to the floor. She doesn’t move, cheek to the floor, trying to take deep breaths. 

Sandor watches, notices the way some blood and his brother’s seed seep down between her thighs. For a second he actually thinks he’s going to vomit, unable to handle the emotions he feels. 

She looks at him, for the first time, looks up from under her lashes and makes direct eye contact with him. He’s never seen her so broken. She can’t even bring herself to move, 3 days of abuse leading to her body finally giving in. Instead she just lays there, shaking. It takes him a moment to realise she’s crying, almost silent sobs, chest heaving and only making him feel worse. Judging by the pain that radiates across her side when she breathes too hard, she must have broken at least 3 ribs. 

Once Gregor had buttoned himself back up again and recovered from the exertion, finishing joking and laughing with the other men, his face turned suddenly serious. 

“Hey, I’ve had a good idea. Sandor, you’re going to love it.” 

That definitely meant that Sandor would not love it. 

Gregor leaves the room, and the moments that he’s gone feel like forever, leaving him waiting in dreadful anticipation. 

It was worse than he could have imagined. His brother came back in, even though he really wished he hadn’t. 

The iron rod in his hand was glowing, burning an angry red. Sandor flinched on instinct, trying to shift as far away from the hot poker as he could, growling something animalistic. 

“No- Fuck-“ 

“Not you, little brother. I think I’ve burnt you enough already. No, I’m going to burn her.” The lack of reaction from her showed how much she’d disassociated from the man’s words. 

Sandor froze, shaking his head quickly, “No, burn me, not her, no-“ he wasn’t thinking, spewing out the only words he could think that would make him stop. It didn’t work, having no affect on him. 

“Where is the fun in that? Fuck no, I’m going to burn her. Maybe I’ll give her a face to match yours, and then we can wait until the little bastard pops out, and I can burn him too. That way, you can be one big, ugly, matching family. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he mocks, waving the rod towards his brother mockingly, relishing in the way he flinches again. 

Turning his attention to her again, he hovers it dangerously close to her face. She can feel the heat radiating against her skin, moving her head away weakly until he grips her hair again, forcing her still. 

A moment passes before he shakes his head, tutting and letting go. 

“No, that would be a waste of such a pretty face. I want to keep fucking her, I won’t be able to get my cock hard if her face is as mangled as yours.” 

Without hesitation, he moves quickly. The sound and smell of flesh burning brings back traumatic memories for Sandor as she screams, metal pressed across her shoulders. When the asshole pulls it away, he can’t bare to look at the violent red strike now permanently etched onto her body. 

“Better make the most of it while it’s still hot,” he hears Gregor mumble before repeating the action, slightly lower this time. 

He hates that she doesn’t scream as much this time, it’s as though she’s given up fighting, resorting to whimpering quietly as her body shudders. Her breathing is too fast, she can’t breathe through the pain, gasping for more air. 

“Please, stop, I get it, I’m a fucking traitor, just stop-“ Sandor lunges forward, receiving a blow to the head from a sword, causing his head to swim, but not so much that he can’t see her receive a violent slap around the face, a consequence of his actions. 

“You fucking harm her again, or my unborn child, I’ll burn you all to the ground, just you fucking wait,” he snarls, trying to focus on his brother so he could portray how serious he was. 

Instead, he just laughs in his face. “I have time, Hound. I’d like to see you try. Boys? She’s all yours.” 

To Sandor’s horror, the men all fight to get to her first. He didn’t think it could get any worse than watching his brother rape her, but this was worse. Ignoring her injuries, rough hands grabbed her. A grip on her jaw forced her mouth open, a sharp kick to her knees encouraged her legs open again. 

He hears one growl, “Fucking bite me and I’ll rip all your teeth out,” then a weak protest in response which is quickly smothered by what he thinks is a cock in her mouth. 

He was about to snap, strung so tight it was inevitable that he’d have a breakdown, but something interrupted the affairs before he could.

A boy, probably barely older than 15, came rushing in. He glanced at what was happening in the room but didn’t seem interested, or was too distracted to fully process it. “Sir,” he addresses Gregor, voice low and concerned. 

“What do you want, boy? We’re busy. You want a turn with the whore? Is that why you’re bothering me?” 

Sandor takes the distraction as an advantage, using the time to struggle with the ropes binding his arms. He can’t hear what the boy is murmuring to his brother, but Gregor now looks concerned as well, humour and smugness in his face disappearing. 

“Fuck, okay, you two, and you three, come with me. The rest of you, she doesn’t move from that floor. He doesn’t move from that bench. Understood?” he growls, watching his men scatter around, pulling up their slacks messily. 

Sandor doesn’t know if his brother intended to only leave 3 men with him, but he thinks it’s a massive mistake. These three assholes were nothing, no issue compared to him. 

His heart was pounding, he had to wait, he couldn’t do anything stupid, react too quickly or rashly. He had one shot to do this, to get them out of here. But he had no weapon, apart from the rope which had finally fallen loose from his wrists. 

That was all he needed, he could do this. He had to do this, for her, and for his baby. His fucking baby. The thought would never settle in his mind. 

He counts his breaths, getting to 80 before deciding it was most likely safe, that they’d probably left. His eyes are training on the poker that’d been left beside where she was still shaking, attempting to cover herself with her arms, a meagre try for protection. 

The three men are laughing together, they’d made the mistake of letting go of him, moving closer to the semi-naked girl, like moths to a flame, the promise of her soft skin and wet cunt like a drug, dizzying their senses. 

“Stop, please,” she whispers, covering herself as much as she can and trying to move away.

As much as he hated their attention being on her, it really helped him. They were still goading her when he decided to make his move, pulling the rope around both his hands in front of him in a secure grip. 

In one movement, he has the largest one’s neck wrapped up in the ties. His vision is tunnelled, all he’s concentrating on is pulling the rope so tightly he nearly decapitates the man, letting him struggle then go limp. In that time, the other boys, slow as they were, had only just managed to tuck their cocks back in, stumbling around to find their weapons that they’d discarded thoughtlessly.

He doesn’t hesitate, blind rage taking over his senses as he grabs the iron rod, smashing it across one boy’s face in a smooth downwards motion. The sound of skull splitting gives him a mild sense of satisfaction, but it’s dampened again by the anger he feels. 

By this point, the remaining bastard has gained his sword, striking it towards Sandor’s arm. He doesn’t even feel the pain as it makes contact, eyes for one thing only as he brings hell upon the younger man. His face isn’t recognisable when he’s done. The only thing that makes him stop is her voice, distant in his mind, bringing him out of his haze. 

“Sandor! Stop, he’s dead-“ Her hand is on his thigh, grounding him as he breathes heavily and stares down at the bloody mess in front of him. The other man is still twitching, post death.

Her quiet whimper as she falls away from him again in pain brings him fully back, turning his attention on now trying to get them out. 

“Can you walk?” 

She nods, but he knows she’s lying, trying to put a brave face for him while she forces herself to gather the strength to move. 

Her arms shake as she pushes herself up slightly, gasping at the pain increasing across her ribcage. 

“I can’t breathe,” she whimpers, desperate for help but not knowing what to ask for. 

“Shhh, don’t talk, it’s okay, we’re getting out of here,” he mumbles, mind racing as he searches the room. He finds his sword and his belongings tucked away, grabbing them quickly then turning his attention back to her. 

The hands that lift her up are meant to be kind, but they feel cruel across her bruised body. She tries to stay as quiet as possible, more for his sake than her own. He didn’t need to be distracted, to lose focus and make a mistake. This time was critical. It was the only head start they had, the only advantage and chance of getting away alive. 

He carries her as though she would break if he squeezed too tightly, and she probably would. She doesn’t let herself feel relief when they reach Stranger, holding back on the feeling until they really were some distance away from these monsters. 

It all seemed too easy, but she still holds her breath the entire time. 

Wincing when she’s placed on the horse, he tries to quickly make her as comfortable as possible, placing as much padding and fur under her as he can, the rest going around her shoulders, careful to avoid the already blistering burns. 

She’s never experienced Stranger move so fast, for such a beast of a horse he was swifter than you’d think. Every time his hooves hit the floor she feels it rattle across her bones, the pain almost causing her to pass out, gripping onto him tightly for fear of falling off.

“We have to move fast, I know it hurts, it’ll be over soon, little sparrow. As soon as we’re far enough, we can slow down, I promise. I’m sorry,” he’s mumbling into her hair, hard to hear against the wind, but all she needed to keep holding onto hope. 

It would be okay. Sandor was back with her. Everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol if anyone is still reading this please let me know coz I feel like everyone has grown tired of my shitty plot line and crap updating schedule 😂

**Author's Note:**

> If my starting notes didn't put you off and you actually managed to get far enough to reading the chapter thank you! It'll get a bit more interesting soon, I just had to set the scene


End file.
